


Where Time Flows Backwards and Hearts Don't Beat

by tildepro



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Mutual Pining, Novelization, Slow Burn, canon's ability to die by my blade, most characters show up dw, yeah I believe in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tildepro/pseuds/tildepro
Summary: But, as usual, Byleth cannot urge herself to feel anything. She huffs out the most frustrated sigh she can muster and marches into the nightfall, unaware she is heading straight into the den housing every reason Jeralt runs from village to village, protecting his unknowing daughter from a fate she was never meant to inherit.________________________Or, what if I fix every frustration I have with the plot of Three Houses?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 38
Kudos: 56





	1. An Inevitable Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my wonderful partner. Without your editing skills this would be an impossible project with no end. I hope my writing can get you to fall in love with one of my favorite games, even if the gameplay will not.

Prologue - An Inevitable Encounter

“…”

_A battle. Unlike ever seen before, encompassing the entirety of the vast Tailtean Plains. Knights in red livery rush in from one side as mages clad in ghastly black robes attack them from the other. Flocks of wyvern and pegasi dive at each other and at the soldiers below. A massive, glowing sword comes hurtling in, igniting the ground and the soldiers standing on it. A mountain of a man, Nemesis, lands with the sword and pulls it from the ground. Around him, eleven more weapons blast the terrain, eleven more inhumanely powerful foes wield them. The battle rages._

“…leth…”

_A soldier dies shielding a blow meant for a woman with a winged crown, and cries out. “Lady Seiros!” She does not tear her eyes from the glowing sword, nor Nemesis who wields it. Seeing her, Nemesis swings the weapon around him. It comes apart in segments, lashing out like a whip and cleaving through Seiros’ soldiers. She draws her own sword and runs at him._

“…”

_Seiros barely dodges Nemesis’ relentless attacks, unable to get any closer. Nemesis slashes at Seiros but she catches the chain-like blade mid-motion and it wraps around her own. She throws both swords aside and rushes Nemesis. One strike to the chin, one kick to the chest, and Nemesis is pinned Seiros as she draws her knife. She snarls at him, face contorted in an unknowable anguish. An anger so unfathomable that if any of her followers saw her eyes in that moment, they would have realized the depths of her hatred would not dissipate with the end of Nemesis. Or the War. They would have dropped their weapons and left her, refusing to walk with her for fear that she would throw their lives away to regain what Nemesis took from her. And yet, only Nemesis looked into those tortured eyes. She spoke to him, trembling with rage and revenge. “Tell me Nemesis, do you recall the Red Canyon?”_

“…By…leth…”

_She brings her knife down, over and over, screaming death upon him for taking all that she loved. She gasps for more air, plunging her knife in his chest once more. The sun rises. She looks up from Nemesis’ cold body, gazing at the surviving red army cheering the end of the war. Dazed, Seiros walks over to the glowing sword, still coiled around her blade. She lifts it to her face, sighing into the sword still slick with blood. “He’s gone now,” She whispers to the sword, “…Mother.”_

_Time spins forward_

“…ake…up…eth…”

_A girl sleeps on a throne. Her dark green hair braided with red and white rope, crowned with a diadem resting on her forehead. Ancient robes adorned with an unfamiliar crest in the center; a symbol with curved lines rushing upwards from the knot where they meet. Like flames. The girl wakes up, gazes at her observer languidly, and asks “Oh my. What could have brought you here?” The observer walks forward and tells the girl their name. The girl hums in amusement. “I shall never grow accustomed to the sound of human names.” She inquires about the observer’s birthday. “Well, wonders never cease! It seems we share our date of birth.” The girl yawns and leans back in her throne. The room lurches._

_“It is almost… time to… begin.”_

  
———————————————————-

  
“…Hey. Time to wake up.”

Byleth opens her eyes and blinks hard at the sconce light opposite her bed. The sound of a pair of armored boots approaching makes her sit up and press the heel of her palms into her eyes, hoping to get rid of the unsettlingly vivid images of a war and a girl. The boots stop beside Byleth’s bed, followed by a moment of silence before a rough hand gently rubs her shoulder. Byleth drops her hands to her lap and opens her eyes again, but images of her dreams remain. She remembers the conversation with the girl vividly, yet only the anger etched onto the woman’s face and the vague memory of a war remains of the previous dream.

“Were you having that dream again?” A gruff voice asks. Byleth turns to nod at the rough man with heavy boots and calloused hands, Jeralt, trying to comfort her with a knowing frown.

“I was dreaming of a war… and then a young girl…” Byleth repeats the same conversation she and Jeralt have been starting many morning with as of late.

He makes a sound of affirmation, “I remember.” Byleth knows Jeralt is never one to entertain thoughts that aren’t solution-oriented or practical. It makes him a great confidant for Byleth; if he doesn’t need to worry about things that aren’t rewarding or physically harming them, neither does Byleth. Will their client follow through with the payment once their quarry is taken care of? Is that bandit going to pull a knife on her or anyone else in their mercenary band? Those thoughts are what Jeralt has taught Byleth to worry about. He continues, “There hasn’t been a war like that in centuries, and we’ve never met a girl like the one you describe. Put that out of your mind now, daydreaming is the surest way to get killed on the job. Besides, it’s almost nightfall. Get a better sleeping schedule.”

Byleth squints outside the inn window to see dusk settling on the trees, still slick with recent rain. Ah. That’s why the sconce light felt especially bright. She throws the covers off and starts fastening her boots neatly placed by the edge of her bed. Another utilitarian aspect of growing up in a mercenary band (especially a band that is actively on their way to a target) is Byleth always sleeps with most of her day clothes on and light armor nearby, in case their target decides to move. It does earn her a bit of teasing from the other mercenaries who “like to sleep comfortably, unlike the stone-faced boss and his stone-faced daughter,” to which Jeralt responds with an equally playful quip about how his daughter’s emotionless demeanor has saved them all from several noble clients’ turning up a nose at their rowdy behavior and denying further payment. Jeralt chuckles and tosses Byleth’s coat onto her back, a chuckle Byleth does not return.

“Our next job is to the north in the Kingdom, so we’ve gotta get a move-“

“Jeralt!” One of the mercenaries shouts before barging in to the communal sleeping room. “Sir! Sorry, but you’re needed outside!”

Jeralt’s raises an eyebrow and sets his jaw. He looks to Byleth and flicks his fingers towards the door, queuing Byleth to fasten her waistbelt and grab her sword as Jeralt secures his lance to his back.

——————————————-

Byleth is a little surprised to see three out of breath young nobles waiting outside the inn, boots and hems muddied. Jeralt seems to mirror Byleth’s confusion, stopping in his tracks to look them up and down before asking, “What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?”

“Please forgive our intrusion. We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire,” apologizes the tall blonde, clad in a blue cape and gripping a lance. Byleth notices the heavy gauntlets and boots, armor that is notably absent from his companions’ attire. He clearly didn’t struggle keeping up, even with the added weight. _Even more surprising_ , Byleth thinks, _considering that nobles rarely publicly appear in armor if it’s not some sort of event._

“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits,” the blonde continues, making Jeralt’s eyebrows fly up and Byleth’s hand reach for the hilt of her sword. “I can only hope you will be so kind as to lend your support.”

“Bandits? Now?” Jeralt asks, scanning the woods behind the nobles.

“It’s true,” pipes in the white haired girl, leaning heavily on her axe. _Well_ , Byleth pauses again to think, _“pipes in” isn’t exactly right_. The axe-wielder has a tone of authority and arrogance that matches her crimson red cape and tights. Her presence is even more imposing compared to the polite yet humble tone of the blue caped noble. “They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp,” she finishes her statement, but before she could continue, the last noble cuts in.

“We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered,” he states, quickly reporting the situation. “They’re after our lives… not to mention, our gold.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows at this one. He is… distinctly different. For starters, Byleth can’t recall ever seeing anyone in Fódlan, let alone a noble, braid their hair this way; a single short braid clasped with a gold band resting on the side of his head. His left ear is adorned with a small, thick hoop earring with silver gold rings looped on it and… slightly heeled boots on his feet? His weapon of choice is odd too; hunting is definitely a commoner’s pastime, mostly out of necessity for food. So why is he wielding a bow?

_To top it all off… Fódlan nobles don’t have darker skin_. He doesn’t look like he could be from any of Fódlan’s neighboring countries, like Duscur, Almyra, or Brigid, but as far as Byleth knew any drop of non-Fódlan blood in a noble family would be cause for an irredeemable disgrace. This kid would have been hidden away for the rest of his life, or killed; why is he standing in front of her with two clearly distinguished nobles, fitting in so perfectly?

_Who is this guy?_

“I’m impressed you’re staying so calm considering the situation-” Byleth snaps back to attention at Jeralt’s words. Byleth has never been one to express social cues - every person she’s interacted with but her father has let her know pretty explicitly that her blank demeanor is unsettling at best. It’s never been a problem as a mercenary, so it’s never bothered her and Jeralt gave up teaching her to emote when she hit teenagehood and still didn’t cry. However, she can read and understand her father’s limited emotions better than anyone else, and through watching his face she can assess what danger they’re in.

But this is the first time an expression crosses Jeralt’s face that she truly cannot read. His eyes open wide and his whole body tenses. He grunts to the nobles, “Wait. That uniform…” Byleth’s eyes dart to the group in front of her again. Indeed, other than their differently colored capes and unique styles, all three nobles have similar embroidery around the buttons, hems, and collars of their clothes. Byleth doesn’t recognize the patterns, and doesn’t understand why Jeralt would have such a severe reaction to their uniform.

She furrows her brow. Byleth learned to stop asking her father about his past a long time ago. Any mention of her mother or his life before Byleth would melt Jeralt’s otherwise composed face into one of deep-rooted sorrow and he would retire to his bed, leaving early from his usually preferred merriment at the inn. But being rendered to that state in front of strangers before a potential run-in with bandits would a danger to everyone under his command. Before Byleth could snap Jeralt out of it, another mercenary joins their group from the forest in a hurry.

“Bandits spotted just outside the village! Damn, there’s a lot of them…” she grunts. _This_ , Byleth thinks as she unsheathes her sword, _I can understand_. Jeralt’s secrets and the nobility’s peculiarities can stay unknown to her, but Byleth knows she belongs on the battlefield.

“I guess they followed you all the way here,” Jeralt tells the three in mild contempt. They nod solemnly and turn to each other with concern. Jeralt walks over to his steed. “We can’t abandon this village now. Come on, let’s move.” He mounts his horse and fixes Byleth with his confident stare. “I hope you’re ready.”

Byleth nods. Jeralt takes off towards towards the entrance of the village, aiming to cut off the bandits at the bridge there. Byleth turns to the three nobles, and with the even voice her father taught her to command with, tells them “You’re all armed and clearly capable of a fight. Come, you led the bandits here in the first place.”

“Of course,” says the girl in red, kicking her axe up and swinging it deftly onto her shoulder. “It would be wrong to leave an Empire village, especially when we brought the trouble here.”

“Regardless of where we are,” the yellow-caped boy adds with a light edge of annoyance, “we’ve found the help we need to eradicate the enemy. The bandits still think we’re too weak to fight back, seems like a sound strategy to overwhelm them with.” He punctuates his last point by notching an arrow into his bow and locking his eyes with Byleth’s. She notes how green his are. “Let’s go meet them, shall we?”

“Thank you for your help, we’ll drive them off with our combined strength. Please, lead the way,” the boy in blue directs, his lance now in both hands and a cold look in his eyes. Byleth nods and runs after Jeralt with three sets of boots close at her heel.

———————————————-

When Byleth arrives at the bridge, Jeralt gestures for her to cross towards the watchtower. “Let’s take care of those thieves before they overrun the village. Take out the enemies in front first, that should take the wind out of their sails,” Jeralt commands. Byleth obliges and crosses over the bridge, spotting the first thief coming out of the darkening woods in front of her. Her eyes flick past him. _One… two… no, three others behind the treeline_ , she thinks as the shadows briefly gleam with the bandit’s weapons. The one in front spots the three nobles behind Byleth and shouts to his companions, brandishing a sword.

Noting the bandit’s weapon, she shouts over her shoulder to the lance wielder, “You, in the blue! I need you to do some damage before I can come in for the kill. Can you do that?”

The boy with the blue cape charges past Byleth almost instantly, swinging his spear down from above his head and slicing into the bandit’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. Byleth follows up with another downward slice across the bandit’s chest, and he hits the ground before his companions can reach them. Byleth crouches back into a fighting stance, invigorated from successfully executing the first attack, and analyses again. _Two with swords, one with an axe. I’ll send the girl in red to face the axeman and have the odd yellow-caped noble to finish the job._ She looks over to the boy in blue next to her, his hands nearly crushing his lance with anticipation. _He’s got the strength of a beast. Good, maybe he can take the other guy out by himself if he keeps his focus._

“You, I need you up front to take on the guy with the axe. Boy with the lance, get the bandit with a sword to the left, I’ll take right. And you with the bow, pick off whoever doesn’t get felled,” Byleth rapidly shouts her instructions. Practiced motions and well-studied battle tactics take over, and she feels the familiarity of battle replace what unease her dreams, Jeralt, and the strange nobles left her with. Her demeanor convinces the nobles to listen to her, and within seconds the red-caped axe-wielder knocks the axe out of her opponent’s hands and cleaves into his abdomen in an uninterrupted motion. Byleth manages to exchange a few hits with her opponent, but as she goes in to parry, an arrow whizzes past her ear and strikes the bandit directly in the throat. She turns to the boy behind her, expecting an apology on his face for such a close call, but instead his bow is still drawn to his cheek and he focuses on repeating the same close call to the thief who’s just hit the blue noble’s (thankfully armored) shoulder. The armor’s resistance causes the thief to recoil for a split second, the noble in yellow grins, and he releases his arrow too fast for Byleth to protest. As the last thief falls, Jeralt and a handful of other mercenaries ride up to Byleth.

“We’ll advance to the west of the watchtower in front of us, you four take up position in the trees in the east. I think I heard whoever’s giving orders in that direction, we’ll move in for a pincer maneuver,” orders Jeralt.

“You heard him. Let’s move.” Byleth parrots Jeralt’s tone, leading the way into the clearing surrounding the watchtower. The blue and red nobles tail Byleth close behind, but the other noble hangs back, too far for Byleth to question his little arrow-right-by-her face stunt earlier. _As helpful as that was, he should have let me know he was going to aim his bow at me_ , Byleth contemplates. She looks back to see him staring analytically in her direction. He covers up his surprise at being caught with an easy smile and a wink. _He’s not taking this too seriously anymore. Where’s this newfound confidence from?_ The jarringly close sound of a man yelling makes Byleth’s thoughts screech to a halt as she stops instantly and holds out her arm to signal the others to do the same.

“Damn! Why are there mercenaries in this village!” The same voice growls; Byleth guesses from about 10 meters past the edge of the watchtower she and the others are rounding. Byleth ushers the group away from the watchtower and into the cover of the trees nearby. “Guess we’ll have to deal with them too…” Upon hearing the voice from a closer range, Byleth recognizes it. She gestures for the nobles to gather around her.

“That’s Kostas.” She breathes, and the girl in red’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

“You know of him?” She responds, voice still calm and authoritative.

“He’s been a problem for multiple clients before, but always gets away before we can dispatch him.” Byleth murmurs.

“Well-” The yellow noble begins, “if you’ve fought him before that gives us the advantage.” He peeks over the bushes, scanning. “He’s got two more men with him, all three of them wield axes. What’s your call?”

“I don’t think Jeralt will be able to meet us for the pincer maneuver, Kostas is much too close to our side of the gambit for us to pull it off. You with the axe and I will head straight for Kostas, the rest of you will make sure that his goonies aren’t a problem.” Byleth tells the group. Tossing one more look over the bushes, the yellow noble nods.

“I’m gonna loose an arrow into the tree behind them. That should distract them long enough for you to run up and spear at least one of them,” he says, twirling an arrow in his hand. The blue noble quirks an eyebrow inquisitively.

“I trust you will get the others when they charge me?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about that, the mercenary and I will make quick distraction work by going for Kostas,” the red noble cuts in. “Shoot now.”

“At your command, Princess.” The yellow noble rolls his eyes with a smirk, escaping her indignant stutter of protest she lets out by quickly standing and shooting the arrow. The blue noble leaps out from behind the bushes and Byleth follows after hearing shouts of surprise from the bandits. As anticipated, his brute strength staggers one of the bandits and attracts the attention of the others, distracting them enough for the red noble to bring down her axe on the other bandit. Upon seeing them, Kostas roars in rage and charges to meet Byleth running towards him.

“You! With the blank stare! Outta my way!” He snarls, swiping at Byleth with his axe. Byleth blocks it, barely, but he nicks her in the side and slippery dirt sends her stumbling out of his way. _Shit_ , Byleth frantically turns to see Kostas dangerously close to the red noble, axe raised. The noble pulls on her axe, but it’s caught in the bandit’s shoulder, so she leaps back and draws a dagger. Byleth looks over at the other two for assistance, but one is drawing another arrow and the other is still turned around. Kostas is almost on top of the red noble now, screaming “I’m gonna kill you where you stand!” _If my sword could barely stop Kostas’ swing, that dagger is going to defend her even less_. As Byleth turns towards Kostas, she catches a glimpse of the red noble’s face.

In that moment, Byleth sees a person who knows they have gravely miscalculated. Her teeth are gritted in anticipation for the blow and her shoulders are slightly trembling from fear, but her eyes show no emotion other than regret. Monumental regret, going further back than their run-in with bandits. Byleth does not know this girl, nor does she know why in her moment before death she sees the world through remorseful eyes, but even having spent a sizable portion of her life killing and seeing others die Byleth has never seen such a poignant show of regret. _She must have suffered so much to have such a deep want for more before death_. Byleth takes off as fast as she can towards Kostas. _I can’t let this happen. I can’t_. Her feet pound the mud and she reaches for the red noble.

Byleth grabs the red noble’s arm, her boot slips in the mud, and Kostas’ axe comes crashing down on Byleth’s back. The world goes sideways for a second; the colors invert in Byleth’s eyes. And then everything goes deadly silent, and impossibly dark.

______________________________

Byleth lurches forward in a pitch black room, sword still in hand. She regains her balance and takes a sharp intake of breath at the echoes her footsteps make. She whips her head around in every direction, only to see darkness and eerie green lights floating around her. Even the ground beneath her is shrouded in darkness, though she can see all her limbs. _Where-_

“Honestly! What were you hoping to accomplish with that little stunt!” A shrill voice erupts from somewhere above Byleth. She turns towards it, unnerved by how familiar the scenery suddenly becomes. There, at the top of a set of stairs ascending from the darkness, is the girl from her dreams, sitting on her throne as usual, adorned in her regalia. Byleth blinks up at her, dumbfounded. The girl looks infuriated, sitting at the edge of her throne and shouting at Byleth. “It’s like you’re trying to get me killed!”

“Get you killed? I…” Byleth stutters. The girl waves her off and sighs.

“Ugh. I suppose it makes sense that if you don’t know the value of your own life, you’re not going to protect it very well, are you?” The girl stands from her throne and steps forward. Her hair trails all the way down to her bare feet and her clothes look ancient, and yet she seems no older than twelve. The same mysterious symbol adorns the front of her dress, a criss-crossed insignia with curved lines rising out of the top. Again, Byleth thinks of flames. “Then its up to me to make that value clear to you.” She fixes her abnormally dark green eyes on Byleth, the same green as her hair. “You can call me Sothis. But I am also known as, The Beginning.”

Byleth stares up at her, not responding. Sothis rests her chin on her hand, suddenly deep in thought. “Sothis… yes, that is my name. Strange, I was unable to recall it until just now…” She looks down at Byleth again, and the frustration returns to her eyes. “That look upon your face. Did you think of me as just a mere child who could not even remember her name!? That ‘child’ just saved your life! So what does that make you?”

“I- I am less than a child?” Byleth offers, still in bewilderment. Sothis smirks.

“You do understand! You threw yourself in front of an axe to save just one young girl you don’t know!” Recounts Sothis. Byleth feels her stomach drop and she looks to her feet. _So… Kostas did kill me…_ Sothis crosses her arms and her look softens a little. “Yet all is well.” Byleth snaps back up to look at her. “I have stalled the flow of time for now. You would have died had I not intervened.”

Relief floods Byleth’s senses, and she suddenly feels the weight of her sword in her hand. “Thank you- wait, you stopped time?” Byleth sheathes her sword and approaches the stairs.

“Hmph. At least you showed some gratitude before asking questions.” Sothis scoffs. “Though it is only momentary, yes. Time has stopped. How ever did I manage that…” _Seems even she doesn’t know how we got here_ , Byleth thinks. She stops at the bottom of the stairs. Something about Sothis’ throne, maybe the way it seems to never get closer despite Byleth approaching, tells her she is not worthy to ascend.

“What now?” Byleth asks. Sothis’ shoulders slump and the ornament hanging off her diadem rustle at her scrunching her forehead in worry.

“When time begins again, the axe will tear into your flesh, and you will surely meet your end,” Sothis explains. “I cannot shake the feeling that if that were to happen, I would perish as well.”

“Can nothing be done?” Byleth asks, trying to keep the unease from constricting her throat. “Can you… can you turn back the hands of time?” Something in Sothis’ mind connects as Byleth suggests this, and she waves her hand in front of her. A circle of white magic appears before her, runes and unintelligible script forming an outer ring with the mysterious crest on Sothis’ robes positioned in the center.

“Yes… I do believe it can be done.” Sothis exclaims giddily. She gives another piercing look at Byleth. “I cannot wind back time too far, but you are aware of what’s to come, which means you can protect yourself this time.” A halo of yellow light erupts from the magic circle, and Sothis begins her incantation. “Now draw your blade. You, who bears the flame within. Drift through the flow of time to find the answers that you seek…”

Once again the world reverses its colors and consumes Byleth in its vortex.

____________________________

“I’m gonna kill you where you stand!”

Byleth’s ears ring from jarring change from the isolated throne room to the noise of battle, but knowing what will happen if she does not rush over to the red noble, she immediately charges Kostas. This time Byleth wastes no time looking for help, sidesteps the muddy patch just before her destination, and swings her sword upwards to disarm Kostas. His axe goes flying from his hands, and Kostas turns just in time for Byleth to kick him in the chest at full force, knocking him flat on his back. The red noble lowers her dagger slowly, gaping at Byleth.

Breathing heavily, Byleth does not have enough time to take in that she has just rewritten history. The other two nobles rush quickly to her side, the red noble sheathes her dagger and yanks her axe out of the bandit’s corpse. Byleth leaps towards Kostas to finish the job, to bring her blade down on the bastard who should have ended her, but he scrambles out of the way and Byleth misses, stabbing her sword into the ground next to him instead. Like he has done many times before, Kostas runs into the bushes faster than Byleth can recover and chase him. He even manages to escape the yellow noble’s arrow, which just barely flies above his head. The sound of Jeralt’s horse approaching from behind makes Byleth tear her eyes away from Kostas’ retreating form, and the sight of her father’s face makes her chest tighten around emotions that she can never break away from her unfeeling heart. Something buried so far within her that she can rarely feel it stir makes her want to run to Jeralt, and maybe even cry. But she cannot explain what, so instead she sheathes her sword and walks over, blank faced as ever.

“Hey…” Jeralt begins, sensing something off in Byleth’s demeanor. At least he can sense that she just had a more-than-close encounter with death. “Did you just-“

“THE KNIGHTS OF SEIROS ARE HERE! WE’LL CUT YOU DOWN FOR TERRORIZING OUR STUDENTS- Hey! The thieves are running away! After them! You, check on the students!” A sudden, booming voice accompanied by the clanking of heavy armor descends over their group. Jeralt’s face of concern drops instantly, replaced by the same look of shock as when he recognized the noble’s uniform. He quickly urges his mount to turn around and face their new company. “Ah! The students seem unharmed! And… hold on, is that!” The boisterous voice suddenly pitches up in delight.

“Ugh… why him…” Jeralt grumbles, not matching the delight of the heavily armored man approaching. His appearance matches his voice pretty spot on; stout, jovial, and fatherly in the complete opposite way from what Jeralt portrays.

“Captain Jeralt!? It is you! Goodness, it’s been ages! Don’t you recognize me? It’s Alois, your old right hand man!” Alois goes on, unperturbed by Jeralt’s apparent aversion to him. The three nobles turn their heads at the mention of Jeralt’s name, but the knights tending to them regain their attention. “Well, that’s always how I thought of myself anyway. It must have been 20 years ago that you went missing without a trace! I always knew you were still alive!”

Byleth raises an eyebrow at his last exclamation. _Jeralt almost died 20 years ago? And this man knows? That means… he knows about my dad’s life before my birth!_ Byleth’s stomach makes an effort to flutter at this newest piece of information, but again she only feels like something stirring deep beneath her surface.

“And you haven’t changed a bit, Alois.” Jeralt grunts out of politeness. “Just as loud as ever. And drop that ‘captain’ nonsense, I’m not your captain anymore. I’m just a wandering mercenary now, one with lots of work to do. Good-bye, old friend.” Jeralt finishes his sentence quickly and begins to turn his mount away. He flashes Byleth a look that screams "hurry for the love of the Goddess lets go now, lets go," so she turns on her heel.

“Wait! This isn’t how this ends! I insist that you return to the monastery with me!” Alois scrambles to keep Jeralt’s attention, running towards him before he can trot too far. Jeralt stops his horse, sighs deeply, and looks up at the now dark sky. He looks at the stars like a man sentenced to face a fate he’s spent a long time running from.

“Garreg Mach Monastery… I suppose this was inevitable.” Jeralt mutters mournfully. He climbs off his horse as Alois arrives at his heel, delighted. Alois turns to Byleth and smiles broadly.

“How about you kid? Are you the captain’s child?” He asks. Jeralt looks at her pleadingly.

“I’m a bandit.” Byleth deadpans, hoping to match the convivial tone in Alois’ voice and get the pressure off of Jeralt. Jeralt sighs deeper somehow, and Byleth knows she’s misread his signals. She shoots him what she hopes is an apologetic look. Alois takes no note, throwing his head back comically to give a boisterous laugh.

“Great sense of humor this one! Clearly cut from the same cloth!” Alois claps her on the shoulder and Byleth tenses at the physical praise. “What’s your name?”

“Byleth Eisner, and yes, she is my daughter.” Jeralt cuts in, unwilling to give Byleth a try at diffusing tension again.

“Is that so? Well, physical differences aside, your mannerisms do remind me of the Captain.” Alois looks Byleth over, trying to find any semblance of Jeralt in her. It’s true, Byleth and Jeralt share almost zero physical traits. Byleth inherited his stocky, muscular frame, and his serious demeanor, but they’re opposites in nearly every other regard. His hair is honey colored, and Byleth’s is dark enough to look blue. He has small, brown, deep set eyes where Byleth has large, murky blue ones, almost purple. His face has been scarred over after years of mercenary work but he has a wide chin and neck; Byleth’s dainty face has earned some unwanted attention over the years, attention returned by her fist digging into the gut of whatever fool decided to catcall a renowned mercenary. Although she still wears his hand-me-downs that she’s adjusted to fit, his deep orange tunic contrasts with Byleth’s black cloak. Jeralt is the leader, the strong rider who attracts attention and doubles whatever damage he takes onto his opponent. Byleth is the silent powerhouse, overwhelming her enemies with her strength and speed on foot while avoiding most attacks. Some mercs have drunkenly gathered enough courage to question Jeralt’s biological connection to Byleth, to which Jeralt always shrugs and responds, “She takes after her mother.” Which, of course, sends Jeralt deeper into his cups and to an early bedtime.

Alois shrugs upon his unsuccessful search for Jeralt in Byleth’s face, and continues, “I’d love for you to see the monastery too. You will join me, won’t you?” There’s no threat in his voice, but Byleth feels she must agree, given how Jeralt acquiesced so quickly. She looks over to Jeralt one last time, but he simply slumps his shoulders and winces.

“What’s troubling you, Captain? You aren’t about to run off again, are you?” Alois asks. Jeralt throws his hands up in surrender.

“Even I wouldn’t dare run from the Knights of Seiros. Get ready to go Byleth, I’ll inform the band. They’ll have to do the assignment without us.” Jeralt directs Byleth as he mounts his horse. Alois follows close behind, and they take off to the inn. Byleth goes to follow, but-

_“My, the knights of Seiros? I don’t think we’ve encountered them before. They do seem rather skilled.”_ Sothis’ voice rings out in Byleth’s mind, stopping her mid-step.

“Sothis? Where-” Byleth begins, but Sothis shushes her instantly.

_“Don’t speak out loud to no one, you fool! I can hear you just fine if you think to me. Besides, looks like your time with the nobles is not up. Look.”_ Sothis explains, and Byleth turns to see the three approaching.

The red noble speaks first, “I appreciate your help back there.” Byleth almost snorts out loud. _‘Help’ is the understatement of the year._ But then memory of the axe just hovering above her flesh sends ice creeping up her veins, so she says nothing and continues to listen. “Your skill is beyond question. And your father… that would be Jeralt, the Blade Breaker? Former captain of the Knights of Seiros, oft praised as the strongest knight to ever live. Have I missed anything?”

_Huh._ “I didn’t know he was the captain.” Byleth answers carefully. As much as she wishes Jeralt would tell her about their shared past, she also respects his want to stay anonymous. Saying she does not even recognize the name “Knights of Seiros” may cause suspicion; they seem well established.

“How curious,” the red noble muses. “I’d wager the explanation for that is fascinating indeed.”

“What I’d wager is more fascinating-” the yellow noble adds. “-Is more on our capable friend here. Byleth, correct?” Byleth nods. “You will be coming back to the Monastery with us, right? Of course you are.” He grins handsomely, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

“Oh, we haven’t even introduced ourselves to you!” The blue noble realizes. He bows deeply. “I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. The bandits attacked us at our camp where we were completing some training exercises. Had you not intervened I fear we would have not made it back to the Monastery in one piece. The way you held your ground against the bandits’ leader was captivating! You never lost control of the situation. It showed me I still have much to learn. ”

“The three of us are students at the Officer’s Academy there. I might as well tell you now, I am no mere student. Your skill is precisely why I should ask you to lend your strength to the Adrestian Empire.” The red noble proposes. Byleth is taken back by how powerfully she speaks despite seeming a couple years younger than herself. “I am Edelgard Von Hresvelg, heir apparent to-“ The red noble begins again, but Dimitri cuts her off.

“Halt Edelgard. Please allow me to finish my own proposition.” Dimitri interrupts Edelgard and turns to Byleth. “The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals such as yourself. Please, do consider returning to the Kingdom with me.”

“You two sure are hasty, trying to recruit someone you just met. Tactless, really.” The last noble chimes in. Compared to the intensity Edelgard and Dimitri give off, Byleth welcomes this noble’s easygoing speech, even if he seems the least enamored by her. “Personally, I was planning on developing a deep and lasting friendship on our way back to the Monastery before begging for favors for the Leicester Alliance.” He fixes his emerald eyes on her. “But it seems there’s no time for niceties in this world. So, my name is Claude Von Riegan, and I would very much like to know where your allegiance lies.”

Byleth can practically see the calculations whirring away in his mind. _Even when he’s off the battlefield it seems he’s always on guard. It’s unnerving_ , she thinks.

_“Well!”_ Sothis exclaims, intruding on Byleth’s thoughts. _“How arrogant they all are! You’re not going to pick any of them, are you?”_

Byleth takes pause, trying to remember her experiences in each territory. Honestly, along with Jeralt refusing to tell her about her past, Byleth’s foggy memory never serves her well in discovering it. She vaguely remembers spending quite a lot of time in Faerghus, wrapped up in furs as a kid before Jeralt let her join in on missions. He would ride with her sat in-between his legs on the saddle, patting her head periodically to make sure she was still lucid and resisting the cold. Their income would come almost entirely from long-standing noble houses, since the harsh winter and established monarchy made it hard for commoners to rise up the ranks enough to have money to spend on mercenary work. The Adrestian Empire is warmer and better for fishing, so she remembers trips in her early teenage years to villages much like the one they’re in now. The nobles were and are still insufferable here though, as much as she enjoys the villages. The Adrestian Empire is the longest standing nation in Fódlan, and its tradition of nobility rule is just as strong here as it is in Faerghus. Only, the Empire nobility have about 700 years of superiority on the Kingdom nobles. The Leicester Alliance broke away from the Kingdom in an attempt to upend the nobility’s stranglehold on Fódlan society, but that too is still ruled by a roundtable of five nobles families with voting rights; it’s under this guise of equality that the Alliance makes its law. Regardless, the Alliance is the place where she’d spent the least amount of time, only venturing to the capital once and seeing the ocean for the first time. There’s a healthy amount of mercenaries finding work there, since there isn’t thousands of years worth of subjugation and status-quo to fight.

“I’m flattered, but I’ll be sticking with my father. If you want to enlist our services, take it up with him.” Byleth tells the three of them, not bothering to mince words after a near-death experience and new roommate occupying her mind. Edelgard and Dimitri are openly disappointed, but Claude’s eyebrows raise at her dismissal. Before he can add anything snarky to the conversation, Alois’ booming voice from the distance exclaims that he’s forgotten the students. Edelgard lets out an exasperated sigh and Dimitri smiles tiredly.

“Hm. We’ll have to pick this up another time.” Claude hums, turning on his heel towards Alois. “Dimitri, Edelgard? Care to share your thoughts on the ambush?”

The three walk on ahead of Byleth, all fighting for control over the conversation. Byleth wants to listen in, but Sothis demands her attention.

_“My, my… Edelgard… quite refined, but I feel as though she is always judging you. Dimitri seems sincere, but do you recall his demeanor when faced with killing the bandits?”_ Sothis asks, suddenly sleepy. Byleth remembers his incredible strength and crushing anticipation before the kill. “ _Yes, and that ice cold stare. I sense darkness lurking beneath. And finally, Claude. His easy smile is striking, but that smile does not reach his eyes.”_

“Out of the three, I think I prefer Claude,” Byleth responds. “If the other two are planning to use me for something, they aren’t letting me know. At least Claude is up front about his distrust of me. Or, the other two are sincere, and he’s the closed-off liar.”

_“Well, regardless,”_ Sothis yawns. _“Seems you’ll be with them for the time being. The Monastery… awaits.”_

Byleth cannot hear Sothis anymore, and can only assume she’s fallen asleep. _Maybe now I can process everything that’s just happened…_

But, as usual, Byleth cannot urge herself to feel anything. She huffs out the most frustrated sigh she can muster and marches into the nightfall, unaware she is heading straight into the den housing every reason Jeralt runs from village to village, protecting his unknowing daughter from a fate she was never meant to inherit.


	2. Of Churches and Lords

_Great Tree Moon_

_The icy winds of the Oghma Mountains have begun to scatter, and the verdant fields once again spring to life across Fódlan, heralding the start of a new year. As they celebrate the dawning year, the people pray that they may realize their full potential, just as a tiny sprout hopes to one day grow into a great tree._

Byleth finishes fastening the last of her and Jeralt’s bags to his horse while Jeralt feeds him a fresh batch of carrots as an apology for making him work into the night. Jeralt’s eyes are glassy, as if the arrival of the Knights of Seiros has put a cloak of resignation over his mind. Byleth looks over her shoulder, making sure neither the Knights nor the three nobles are looking. Once she sees they are engrossed in conversation, she kicks Jeralt’s leg to get his attention.

“If we bolt now, I think we can lose them; half of them aren’t on horses. We can find the band later and stick it out on our own until it’s safe.” Byleth whispers hurriedly. She hates the way Jeralt is acting right now; not at all like the capable leader he’s been her whole life. Maybe she can bring that part of him back if she sparks the idea to leave this oppressive group. Jeralt smiles but shakes his head solemnly, a clouded stare still shrouding his eyes.

“The only way to escape the Knights of Seiros is to make them think you’re dead. Now that they know I’m not, they won’t stop until they’ve brought me to the Monastery.” Jeralt chuckles in defeat. He turns to face her, and upon seeing the worry in Byleth’s brow, some clarity finally returns to his eyes. “Listen, I couldn’t tell you why they want me there. All I know is there’s nothing we can do for now but follow them. Trust me.” He backs away to grab his horse’s lead and walks over to Alois. Byleth follows, head down and eyes watching, analyzing everything.

__________________________

The trek to the Monastery takes all night, though the cold winter air has almost entirely dissipated with spring just around the corner, and the Oghma Mountains have lost their usual chill. Byleth has passed through these mountains often enough; they’re positioned directly on the border of the Empire and the Monastery, and Jeralt has always avoided the Monastery, for now obvious reasons. The Oghma Mountains provide the safest passage from the north of the Empire to the south.

Byleth does her best to disincentivize anyone from talking to her; maintaining a blank stare no matter how the Knights try to break the ice with her, saying close to nothing in any conversation, and walking uncomfortably quickly for anyone to want to keep speaking to her. To be fair, Byleth is trying to have a conversation with someone, just not anyone in the present group. Sothis has not answered any of Byleth’s attempts to call her, and no matter how hard she tries to picture herself in the throne room, her mind won’t take her there. As dawn begins to crack the sky open, Byleth stops trying to contact Sothis. _Clearly, she’s made herself comfortable haunting my thoughts_ , Byleth thinks, hoping that maybe snark will get Sothis’ attention. It doesn’t. More time passes, and eventually the traveling lamps become entirely useless and are snuffed out. Even though Byleth slept until dusk the day before, the fatigue sets in and she does not notice the three nobles slowly encroaching on her space.

“This will be your first time at the Monastery.” Dimitri’s voice, suddenly so close, startles Byleth. So does his statement, which should have been a question. Then again, she vaguely remembers seeing him speak to Jeralt, maybe he asked about their experience at the Monastery. “I’d be happy to show you around.” He smiles at her warmly, and Byleth’s guard drops a bit. _He seems to be the kindest of the three… maybe he’ll be a good ally to have around._ She hums in agreement and his eyes light up. His face is completely different from when he’s on the battlefield; the icy eyes are now brighter and his brow is smoothed from the harsh lines of his scowl. _He’s quite handsome,_ Byleth notes. Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth sees Claude hide a smile behind his hand. Seems Byleth isn’t the only unreadable tactician Dimitri’s earnest charm has broken into. Claude clears his throat and joins in the conversation.

“It really is Fódlan in a nutshell, the good and the bad.” He adds. Edelgard bristles at his comment.

“Like it or not, we’ll be there soon enough.” She huffs, looking straight ahead. Claude looks like he might taunt her for responding so curtly, but Edelgard whips her head around and points at him. “DON’T ‘Princess’ me again!” Claude laughs in response, and Dimitri chuckles politely. Edelgard rolls her eyes, “Dimitri, don’t side with him. It’s his fault the bandits chased us.”

“Hey! I got the worst of it!” Claude protests.

“That would be because you ran off.” Edelgard deadpans. Claude nods in joking solemnity.

“Too true, I was the first to make a strategic retreat. Everything would have worked out if these two hadn’t followed me and ruined everything.” He provokes, already stifling a smile at his predicted reactions. They either had this same conversation earlier that night before they set off, or Claude is just that good at reading people. Edelgard rolls her eyes, refusing to take the bait, but Dimitri falls for it.

“Ah, so that’s what you were thinking Claude. And here I thought you were acting as a decoy for the sake of us all.” Dimitri responds. Byleth can’t tell if he’s joking with Claude or genuinely making a discovery, and she’s not sure if that adds to his charm or makes him seem a little naïve. Edelgard chooses the latter, apparently, as she turns to reprimand him immediately.

“His intentions were as clear as day. You will prove a lacking ruler if you cannot see the truth behind a person’s words.” Edelgard lectures. Dimitri’s smile is instantly replaced with a tight lipped scowl.

“Hm.” He begins, closer to the agitated rasp of his battle voice. “You will prove a lacking ruler if you look for deceit behind every word and fail to trust those whom you rely on.” Byleth starts to walk faster, uninterested in nobility spats about who is the better ruler, and unnerved by the intensity in a seemingly innocuous argument. She wants nothing to do with the history between those two, but Claude reels her in before she can leave.

“Oh, joy. A royal debate between Their Highnesses.” He chirps, and when Byleth looks back in shock, he’s looking dead at her. He grins at having predicted another reaction. “Personally, as the embodiment of distrust, I think their complete predictability smacks of naiveté.”

“Me? Naïve?” Edelgard finally snaps, weaponizing her composed glare and dominating voice against Claude. “Tell me, are you actually incapable of keeping quiet, or is your lack of self-awareness a condition of some sort?” At this insult, Claude finally looks like he might drop the conversation. Dimitri takes the opportunity to cut in, noticing Byleth’s discomfort.

“I-I suppose we never told you,” Dimitri begins. “All three of us are Lords next in line for our respective thrones.” He brings his hand to his chest in what Byleth then realizes is a royal gesture. His polite tone, his weapon choice of a lance that would effortlessly grow into his knighthood, and his monstrous strength is emblematic of a Kingdom with a long standing history of devoted cavalry. She’s worked for high ranking nobles, even roundtable nobles in the Alliance, but she’s never worked for royalty, let alone save one’s life. _Actually… **three** royal lives._

“All right, speak for yourself, your Princeliness.” Claude cuts in, still slightly irritated from Edelgard’s words. “I’m no Prince, but my grandfather is Duke Reigan of the ruling house in the Alliance. When he croaks, the responsibility of the Alliance roundtable falls to me.”

“Or so they say…” Edelgard whispers, just loud enough for Byleth and Claude to hear, but quiet enough for Edelgard’s accusation to stay personal. For just a moment, only fast enough for someone analyzing as closely as Byleth is to see, Claude’s neck and jaw tense with unmitigated anger. He does not respond or react past this flash of irritation, but the expressions Byleth has slowly started to read instantly become guarded again. Byleth feels slightly sad, which surprises her. Something about Claude becoming more familiar to her makes her feel less apprehensive about her future at Garreg Mach.

 _Maybe,_ she realizes, _it’s because his hiding behind a mask reminds me of myself_. No one knows she can’t feel or remember her past, no one but Jeralt. Byleth has already heard whispers of the “Ashen Demon,” an unfeeling killer on and off the job. Byleth physically bristles with discomfort at the nickname. _I wonder what he makes sure no one knows about him, and how badly he wants to tell everyone. I wonder how he feels about the forces that make him stay quiet._ Claude looks over at Byleth to see if she heard, and Byleth’s blank face lies to him. He looks away, comforted.

“My father is the current Adrestian Emperor.” Edelgard continues, dragging Byleth’s attention away from Claude. Byleth sees a similar regret on Edelgard’s face as when Byleth stepped in to save her. Before she can process further, the trees above them clear and the path becomes paved. Byleth looks ahead through the branches, and there it is.

Garreg Mach Monastery.

The structure that rises above Byleth is closed in by sets of gargantuan walls and a bustling town, but at the very top of the mountain is a massive Monastery. Byleth can make out a huge cathedral, an imposing tower, windmills, and a number of wyverns and pegasi being flown around the structures. They still have a couple kilometers uphill to reach the Monastery, but Byleth can tell its size from where she stands. Having never strayed anywhere too significant, probably an effort from Jeralt to hide from the Knights, Byleth has never seen such a crowded, massive establishment. She cannot tear her eyes away.

“Hey, Byleth. Walk with me, all right? Stay close.” Jeralt interrupts Byleth’s reverie. She obliges, giving a short nod goodbye to the three Lords before trotting up ahead to Jeralt. His voice shakes imperceptibly, only Byleth can tell, and as soon as she reaches him he clamps an arm around her shoulders to bring her closer. At his nervousness, Byleth stays close, if only to keep him calm. Together, they trudge up the hill to where her father’s past lies.

_________________

Once they push past the final gate and a small market, into the Monastery grounds proper, Jeralt looks up as if by instinct. Byleth follows his stare, and looking down on them, perched on a balcony, is a beautiful woman dressed in white robes with a grand collar and an ornate headpiece haloing her flowing light-green hair. White Lillies adorn her crown on either side of her diadem, and a gold cape lined with deep blue velvet frames her figure. Her pale eyes linger on her and Jeralt, expression completely closed.

“Rhea’s here,” Jeralt breathes. Byleth lets out a breath she did not know she was holding in. Rhea. She has to be the loveliest woman Byleth has ever seen. She does not get to interact with many women in her line of work, much less a woman who owns such beautiful things. Byleth has never been one for pretty, delicate, and expensive items, but it isn’t until she sees Rhea that she realizes her desire has been pushed to the side out of necessity. Rhea makes Byleth want to cherish lovely, small things. Things she can hold gently in one second and crush entirely in the next. To collect them on her shelf to be loved and adored so long as she does not feel she should destroy them on a whim. Beauty and annihilation. Beauty in annihilation. Byleth feels intoxicated.

 _“Hey! Get a grip!”_ Sothis screams, and Byleth staggers forwards. Jeralt catches Byleth before she can steady herself, and when her vision clears she looks up to see that Rhea has left the balcony. All at once, Byleth returns to herself. Her rugged, unfeeling, tactical self.

“You okay?” Jeralt asks, a look of worry clear on his face. Byleth nods quickly, for just as quickly as she had lost herself, she yanks back hard to reclaim herself. So, she was shockingly and entirely, fine.

 _“What was that? I was sleeping so well and suddenly I feel as though your mind were melting.”_ Sothis fights to keep the sleep out of her voice in an attempt to be taken seriously.

“I don’t know, but stay awake. I think I need an extra person on guard…” Byleth mumbles. Sothis nods, and her image disappears from Byleth’s mind. Jeralt is still holding onto Byleth’s elbow, looking worried. She pats his arm and removes herself from his grip. “I’m fine, the overnight travel drained me. It’s better that we keep moving than attract more attention to ourselves.” Byleth mutters to Jeralt. He nods, relieved that Byleth’s demeanor is unchanged.

Alois informs the two that he will go on ahead and tell the Archbishop about their arrival, and actually runs off in his full armor. The three Lords split off with hasty goodbyes, running off to report to their classmates. Jeralt follows Alois reluctantly, from memory it seems. He walks through the grand reception hall not as an austere mercenary basking in its elaborate glory for the first time, but as someone who sees it’s architecture and notices very suddenly how mundane it all is under the thick paint of holiness. Byleth, however, stares at the chandeliers and candelabras having to stay lit even during the day to light the spacious hall. The space is already full even this early in the morning, with priests, clerics, nuns, and knights milling around and sharing their good mornings. Byleth even spots a few students, all wearing the same uniform as the Lords; black coats and white button ups with gold embroidery, with most of everyone wearing variations of vests, pants, skirts, dresses, coats, boots, leggings, anything Byleth can think of but has herself never owned. Looking down on her men’s tunic, she can’t help but feel funny. Her black tunic has pink stitching across her chest shaped like a “W,” not an elegant gold embroidering. She’s cinched the waist with an armored waist plate that matches her gauntlets and knee brace, but the only other noticeable accessory she wears is a gold ornament tied around her belt that Jeralt bought for her when she was very young. She does not remember the occasion or why she’s kept it for so long, but it has become a habit so there it stays, hanging below her navel, near where she straps her dagger to her hip. _Why is a Monastery of all places so lavish?_

 _“Come to think of it…”_ Sothis pipes in. _“We don’t know who the archbishop is, and you are about to meet them. Find out, and quickly. And you must ask your father about Rhea!”_

“Jeralt?” Byleth asks discreetly. Jeralt hums to confirm he hears her. “What should I know before we go to meet this Rhea?”

Jeralt’s face turns into pre-battle debrief, and Byleth can’t help feeling relieved at some sense of familiarity. “It’s been years since I last set eyes on this place. To be forced to see her now…”“You’ve been here before?” Byleth prods, using this opportunity to ask for more about his past than she normally would. Jeralt obliges, seeing as how his knowledge is imperative for Byleth at this moment.

“I’ve never spoken of this to you before, but… many years ago, I was a knight here. I reported to the archbishop… Lady Rhea.”

“The archbishop?”

“As you know,” Jeralt raises his voice a little, hoping to trick anyone who catches wind of their conversation - Byleth is pretty sure it would be blasphemy for her to not know the religious leader of such an established order. They turn into a set of stairs past the entrance hall, and Jeralt continues. “The majority of folks in Fódlan are devout followers of the teachings of Seiros. The leader of that ridiculously large organization is the archbishop, Lady Rhea. Try not to let them know about your ignorance of the church.”

 _“The Church of Seiros hmmm…”_ muses Sothis. _“I feel as though- oh, I should hush. It seems you’ve arrived.”_

___________________________

A set of heavy, embellished doors sit at the top of the stairs. Seems above the reception hall is a hallway with what appears to be offices, with the heavy doors on one end and a split in the corridor on the other. Byleth wants to explore more of this exquisite building, but Jeralt ushers them towards the doors. He knocks, and even with his heavy fists still wrapped in gauntlets the door doesn’t shake. Moments later, the doors open inwards, and inside is a chamber with a small cathedra at the end. Standing in front of the seat with her hands resting in front of her is Rhea. A man dressed in the same velvety blue as her cape trimmings stands next to her, looking stern compared to Rhea’s lovely image. He has a small golden band with a simple ornament in the center on his forehead, crowning his dark green hair.

 _“How funny… I did not know mortals had the same eye color as me.”_ Sothis wonders. _“Even Rhea’s seem unique.”_ Byleth tries to remember if she’s encountered anyone with a similar pigment. Fódlan and its neighboring countries do have inhabitants with colorful hair; Byleth herself has a strange dark blue color. But eyes that practically glow green seems particular.

“Thank you for joining us, Jeralt. My name is Seteth. I am an advisor to the archbishop.” The stern green-haired man states. His voice sounds like someone who’s been in charge for a long time, and his rigid posture suggests that maybe he’s gotten too used to it. Jeralt nods in greeting.

“It has been a long time, Jeralt. I wonder… was it the will of the goddess that we have another chance meeting like this?” Rhea speaks, voice as smooth and soothing as Byleth thought it would be. She speaks melodically and with an elegant smile.

“Forgive my silence all these years. Much has happened since we last spoke.” Jeralt gives a stiff bow. Seems Rhea even manages to soften Jeralt; his tone is much less gruff than normal. Rhea turns to look at Byleth, and Byleth almost melts under her gaze. Her milky eyes are hypnotizing, and Byleth is okay with the fuzzy state it sends her into. Sothis, however, is not, and snaps Byleth out of it.

“So I see. The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. That is your child, is it not?” Rhea asks, politely, training for years as a religious figurehead to restrain herself from speaking too harshly.

“Yes… born many years after I left this place.” Jeralt explains, and Rhea turns her smile at him. “I wish I could introduce you to the mother of my child but… I’m afraid we lost her to illness.”

 _So, my mother died of an illness…_ Byleth wants to feel sad. But of course, her heart does not move.

“I see. My condolences.” Rhea offers. She must have practiced her voice of condolence, but her genuine tone of sorrow seems to come from a deep understanding for Jeralt’s loss. “As for you…” Her gaze returns, and Byleth steadies herself this time. “I heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?”

It takes a second for Byleth to find her voice. “My name is Byleth Eisner.” She says as clearly as she can muster, and adds a bit of a bow at the end.

“A fine name indeed.” Rhea responds, smile radiant. “My dear, I am called Rhea. I am the archbishop of the Church of Seiros.” She bows slightly in return, and the ornaments hanging off her headpiece dangle delicately with her movement. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for saving those students of the Officers Academy.” Jeralt lets out an unimpressed sigh, but Rhea doesn’t even flinch. She turns to him, smile as warm as ever. “Jeralt. You already know what I wish to say, do you not?”

“You want me to rejoin the Knights of Seiros, don’t you.” Jeralt crosses his arms, openly uneasy. “I won’t say no, but…”

“Your apprehension stings.” Rhea lets her smile drop for a moment, stinging Byleth in return with her disappointed expression. “I had expected that Alois would have already asked this of you. And to you, my dear Byleth, I have a request for you. Since your father will be here, we must find a job for you as well. The academy is short of a professor, and Alois spoke highly of your abilities.” Seteth clears his throat, and Rhea straightens her shoulders and holds her chin up high. “I must step away for now, but I expect the Knights will desire a word with you soon. Please listen carefully to what they have to say. Rest after your long journey. Until tomorrow… Farewell.” She and Seteth move into the office to the left of the audience chamber, leaving Jeralt and Byleth alone. Once again, as soon as Rhea leaves, Byleth snaps out of whatever trance Rhea puts her in. _A… a professor?_ Jeralt lets his shoulders drop entirely, puts his hands on his hips, and lets out a huge sigh.

“I can’t believe it. Forced back in to the Knights of Seiros.” He turns to look at Byleth, for the first time relieved of the stress he’s been carrying since the night before. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. Looks like I’ll be stuck here for a while…” He pauses, unsure of how to go on. “And I’m afraid your services are requested as well. Apparently that damned Alois went and recommended you to Lady Rhea behind my back. But…” Jeralt smiles, a true, proud smile, just like normal. “At least they’re not separating us.”

Rhea had so clogged Byleth’s veins with honey that she forgot about the very real possibility that she and Jeralt would be separated. But… as much as she wants to resent Rhea for it, she can’t help but doubt Jeralt’s distrust of her. It’s no question that she is a woman with great power, but someone with such a gentle voice who readily welcomes an old friend and his adult daughter cannot be worth all of Jeralt’s anxiety. Can it?

“Seems the Knights are gathering outside for me. I’d ask for directions to your room if I were you, you must be beat. And…” His smile drops, and he leans to whisper something in her ear. “Watch out for Lady Rhea. I don’t know what she’s thinking, making you a professor like this. She may be up to something. Stay on your guard.” Byleth forces back the millions of questions at her throat and nods simply, eyes emotionless. Jeralt nods back, and excuses himself from the room. He turns one last time, “Oh, and for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a pretty good professor.”

 _“He’s quite correct to be cautious, you know.”_ Sothis chirps. _“It’s disturbing how easily she disarms you, and someone with her status has more than a few skeletons in her ornate closet. Try not to get caught in her spell again.”_ Byleth nods in agreement, realizing Rhea had her so captivated her that Byleth didn’t notice that she is now trapped in her monastery, and in a position where she will be heavily scrutinized and tracked. Not only that, but choosing a total stranger, someone barely older than the Lords who are enrolled here, with no teaching experience whatsoever is part of a master plan so huge Byleth cannot even begin to understand it, or a sure sign of madness.

Byleth asks one of the nuns for directions to her living quarters, head spinning nauseatingly. _Just think about where you’re going right now, you can be overwhelmed once you’re alone in a room. Down the stairs… to your left immediately… then take another left once you reach the bathhouse… my room is the very first one that comes up on the bottom floor._

It works. Byleth does not notice a single person on her way down, even if there were probably a dozen or so that she passed. She closes the door behind her before even looking into her room, sighing heavily and willing herself to release any of the emotions clawing at her heart, begging to be felt. Nothing. Byleth looks around, and as expected, this is the nicest room she’s ever stayed in. Big enough for a chandelier, storage cupboards with a countertop lining the back wall, a tall writing desk with a chest and bulletin board on the right wall, and a large, single-person bed opposite on the left. Byleth has ample room to pace between the bed and the desk, and the tall windows on the back wall stream in pleasant light. Everything is built with the same dark wood lining the stones of the Monastery.

She sits down on the bed and puts her head in her hands, her pulse thrumming in her wrists. The plushness of the bed and lighting that illuminates even the darkest corners of the room grate with Byleth trying to reclaim any sense of familiarity. _Okay. Jeralt is right. We’re still together, as long as that is still true nothing bad can happen. Calm down…_ She feels her pulse slow, and her thoughts become clearer. She is safe, she is with her father, and she is taking on a teaching role that, honestly, may bring a new purpose into her life. Directing the Lords in battle felt right, and clearly a distinguished knight, as odd he may be, thought she was suited for it as well. If she wants to discover her past, she has to find a way to circumvent her father’s protection of it. Maybe some new allies will help. _Besides, Jeralt has been appointed Captain, he’s not going anywhere for a while. I may as well become as invaluable as him, so Rhea does not get any ideas about separating us_. Byleth feels her eyelids grow heavy, but she cannot bring herself to relax in her brand new surroundings. So, she resigns to breathing exercises, hoping that maybe the sound of her windpipes will drown out the stress gnawing at the seams of her confidence, holding together the parts of her that ripped apart when Sothis turned back time.

__________________________

A sharp rap on her door brings Byleth back to reality. Slowly, Byleth rises to answer, hoping in vain that it is Jeralt, or maybe one of the three Lords. Instead, Seteth stands at her door, face as dour as when she met him in the audience chamber. Byleth nods her head in greeting, and he clears his throat instead of returning the gesture.

“Before I relay any information from the Archbishop, I must make my opinions known. Personally, I am against entrusting someone as lacking in trackable history as yourself with such an important task as leading one of the three houses of our esteemed academy, but it is as the Archbishop desires.” Seteth reports, eyes boring into Byleth’s. As much as Byleth wants to agree, Seteth’s tone of superiority still irks her. Seeing as he holds a high position in a well-respected, luxuriant establishment above her mercenary status, Byleth can’t help but think of the stuffy nobles who hurriedly hide their gold embellishments from her and Jeralt when they meet, fearing their corrupt commoner souls will be overcome with the urge to steal their ugly furniture. Unperturbed, she returns his gaze. Seteth continues.

“This is what the Archbishop wished for me to relay; the Officers Academy is comprised of three houses of students, each of which is closely affiliated with its region of origin. The Black Eagle House is for students from the Adrestian Empire. Their house leader this year is Edelgard, the Imperial princess.

“Then, there is the Blue Lion House, which houses students from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Their house leader is Prince Dimitri.

“Lastly, there is the Golden Deer House, for students of the Leicester Alliance. Their house leader is Claude, grandson to Duke Riegan.

“You will choose one of these houses to lead until the Lone Moon. That means,” Seteth leans in closer, eyes sharp. “You have eleven months to mold these students into a caliber of scholar and soldier befitting the reputation of the Church of Seiros. I hope for your sake that you make Rhea proud.” He steps back, expression returning to the composed posture of before. “I recommend that you speak with the students and the house leaders before making a decision. Be aware that only the house leaders know you are to be a professor, use this opportunity to get to know the students before they adjust to your role as their mentor. Have your decision by this afternoon, Rhea will meet you and the other two professors at the third chime of the clock in the audience chamber. Have a good day.” He turns and leaves Byleth standing at the doorway, wincing at the thought of having to meet more people.

 _“Well then…”_ Sothis yawns. _“I think I’ve had quite enough interactions with stuck up types today. I leave the rest to you.”_

“Not like you did much interacting yourself…” Byleth mumbles, to which Sothis instantly objects.

 _“Hmph! Had it not been for me, you would not have even the opportunity to feel overwhelmed at these folks! Remember who saved you, mortal.”_ Sothis lectures, plopping down on her throne and resolutely going back to sleep. Byleth shakes her head, wishing she could do the same, and ventures out into the Monastery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhea is such a terrifying character and the good people at Nintendo and Intelligent Systems are too cowardly to fully utilize her.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope to keep up the weekly updates, I have about five more chapters schedule to be posted, but uh turns out you have to actually write things if you want to post them? Fascinating concept...
> 
> Get ready to meet the students next time!


	3. Three Houses

Byleth’s new living quarters are opposite a long building standing between her and the reception hall, putting Byleth’s room neatly next to the corner. The bathhouse is up the stairs just a few paces to the left of her room, and situated in the same corner is the training grounds. It’s deserted, unfortunately, so the bonding-by-exchanging-blows that she’s so used to is out of the question for now. Byleth keeps retracing her steps back to the reception hall, and discovers an open, grassy courtyard between the reception hall and the long building facing her room. There are three big rooms behind pillared walkways and huge arched doors, open to let Byleth see students milling about inside, talking at desks or putting books in bookcases. The furthest classroom has large gold and yellow banners on either side with an elegant black stag in the middle, the next classroom has banners showcasing a fierce blue lion over silver and blue, and the closest classroom has a black eagle spreading its wings over a crimson and white background.

She spots Claude speaking with a girl just outside the Golden Deer classroom. He’s smiling and joking around with her, but his smile still doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The girl he’s talking to doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, she carries on their conversation as if she’s wearing a mask as well. Her voice is distantly high pitched and with a slight drawl, almost a caricature of a gossipmonger voice. She wears a short skirt with her undershirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows effortlessly, and ties her pink hair in high pigtails going all the way past her shoulders. Despite the pair looking exactly like the noble socialites that titter about Jearalt’s band, nearly shouting about rumors of an “Ashen Demon” amongst the group, Byleth finds herself walking towards them. _At least I’ll get to speak with Claude again…_

“Hey you! Aren’t you Jeralt’s kid?” A voice interrupts, tapping Byleth on the shoulder. Byleth turns to see a tall young woman with very short orange hair and a raggedy, carrot-colored jacket tied around her waist. Her left arm is covered in a black sleeve and fingerless glove, likely for archery, and a thick copper necklace with a silver shell ornament rests on her chest. Collar popped, boots tall, slightly flared skirt, top buttons of her shirt casually undone, and absolutely zero hidden emotions on her face. Instantly, Byleth likes her.

“Yes, my name is Byleth Eisner. It’s nice to-”

“I’m Leonie Pinelli.” She interrupts, sticking her hand out. Byleth shakes it, wishing she could return Leonie’s smile, giving a weak attempt. “I am Captain Jeralt’s first and greatest apprentice! I’m sure he’s told you about me.” Leonie urges, and Byleth does her best to remain blank.

“I’m sorry, no.” Byleth’s bland tone does nothing to comfort Leonie, and her face falls fast, then turns into frustration even faster. Byleth tries to recover. “That does not make you any less important to him. My father rarely talks about his past, there are many who don’t even know we’re related.”

“Where were you when Jeralt came to my village?” Leonie presses. Byleth tries to remember, but nothing comes up.

“I don’t remember, sorry.” Byleth offers. Leonie crosses her arms and glares at Byleth. _Great_ , Byleth thinks, _the one person in this entire Monastery who gives off the vibes of a mercenary, and she happens to bubble at the surface quickly. Those people never tend to tolerate me for long._

“Well. Sounds to me like you haven’t been paying enough attention to Jeralt. Believe me, if I had the chance to learn from Jeralt for longer than I was able to, I wouldn’t forget the one who came before me.” By this point, Leonie’s raised voice has garnered the attention of a few students in the courtyard, including Claude and his friend, who seem used to and even amused by Leonie’s display of passion. Leonie steps closer, “However confident you are in your abilities to have that little regard for your teacher, I promise you I will surpass in an instant.” And with that declaration, Leonie brushes past Byleth and heads towards the classroom. Silence settles over the courtyard, and Byleth bristles at the discomfort of everyone’s eyes on her.

“Yeesh, what was that all about?” Claude asks after a moment, diffusing the tension as he walks towards Byleth, pink-haired girl at his heel.

“I think I offended her…” Byleth says sheepishly. Claude managed to cut into whatever mood Leonie’s outburst had settled over the courtyard but… their whispers still continued. It’s subtle, but their eyes are no longer pointing at her, instead clandestinely staring at Claudes’ braid, mouths turning downwards in either confusion or suspicion. Even the monastery staff gave a quick stare or furrowed brow in Claude’s direction. Byleth doesn’t get it, and brushes it off without a second thought.

“Oh, don’t worry about Leonie. She can be a bit blunt, but she’s quick to forgive and otherwise a good person to be around.” The girl explains, waving her hand dismissively. Her bangs frame her face cutely, and upon being up close to her Byleth smells a delightful perfume. If she noticed the weird stares directed at Claude, she certainly did not acknowledge them. Claude doesn’t seem to react either, face still perfectly masked by his smile. _They really are a caricature of the gossiping nobility… I hope they aren’t actually._ Somehow, her being friends with Claude does not convince Byleth of her innocence.

“I kinda thought you two would get on, with her hoping to be a mercenary one day and connection to Jeralt.” Claude adds, shrugging. “But, Hilda has a point. Leonie’s father’s a hunter, and she came here on a scholarship her village pooled together. She’s too practical to let a grudge get in the way of making a potential new training partner.”

“Training partner? Are you joining the Knights of Seiros or something? Everybody’s been talking about you!” The girl, Hilda apparently, asks.

“Something like that, it’s not important.” Claude answers for Byleth, putting on his now signature smile. _Handsome, but it’s a mask._ “Anyway, while you’re here, you might as well learn about the Golden Deer. We may be spending a lot of time together in the future, isn’t that right?”

And just like that, Claude has taken control of the conversation. Rather than being annoyed, Byleth is impressed. It helps that Byleth does truly want to know more about the Golden Deer, so she goes along with him.

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you, Claude.” Byleth monotones back, and Claude notes her blank reaction with a blink of surprise. “What about you, Hilda? Could I begin with asking about you?” Hilda sighs politely.

“If you must ask,” Hilda responds, patting the wrinkles out from her skirt. Her nails are perfectly manicured and her tall boots have little heels on the ends, stereotypically feminine in every way. As she straightens her shoulders, she looks like an heiress who has rehearsed for this introduction her whole life, “My name is Hilda Valentine Goneril. I’m the only daughter of Duke Goneril, the keeper of Fódlan’s locket, that massive fortress stretching across eastern Fódlan that acts as a border to Almyra. Though, my older brother seems to be doing most of the protecting these days. Dad’s getting a little old.”

“If I can add some truth to Hilda’s introduction,” Claude grins, unaffected by Hilda flashing a practiced pout. “Her brother and father coddle her quite a bit. If you look up ‘lazy’ in the dictionary… her picture wouldn’t be there because she never got around to submitting it.” He giggles, and Hilda gives him a shove. Claude actually staggers at her push, which catches Byleth’s attention more than Claude’s teasing. Hilda is tiny, only reaching Byleth’s nose, barely reaching Claude’s chin, and yet a shove in jest can move a battle-experienced man. For someone who’s supposedly lazy, something does not add up.

“You are so rude!” She whines. “Please, ask about someone else; I am good at at least keeping great gossip on everyone in our class.”

“All right… well, have you any aspiring mages?” Byleth asks, to which Claude nods and Hilda squeals excitedly.

“We have two adorable magic users, Lysithea von Ordelia and Marianne von Edmund.” Hilda explains, tossing her head towards the classroom. Byleth peers in to spot an extremely young looking, white-haired girl boring into a tome at a desk, and a somber looking young woman delicately looking for a book, her pale blue hair falling out of the crown braid where it’s been gathered.

“Absolutely do not let Lysithea hear you call her adorable though, not unless you’re Hilda.” Claude warns. “She’s the daughter of Count Ordelia, and the youngest student here at 15 years old. She’s constantly trying to prove herself, so she gets angry if you give her any reason to think you’re treating her like a child. As for me, I do it on purpose. You have to make your own fun in this place, you know?” Hilda rolls her eyes, but Byleth sees the humor in Claude treating Lysithea like a little sister.

Hilda adds, “No one works harder than her; I’m in awe. Marianne, on the other hand… well… she’s Margrave Edmund’s daughter, and that’s all anyone knows about her. She doesn’t interact much with other students, so I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of people have never even heard her speak.” She shakes her head, looking back at Marianne who’s looking around frantically to see if anyone has seen her drop a book out of the shelf. Byleth can’t help but notice Hilda’s eyes go soft at her. “I think she just needs to see she’s good at something. Maybe I could get her to do some chores for me…”

“Hey! No! Do not pick on Marianne of all people to do things for you!” Claude chastises, turning to Byleth. “See what I mean? Can’t do a thing for herself, this one.”

“I never ask if they don’t offer first! I just need to get her to offer…” Hilda mumbles.

“Oh! We do have a third magic user, but he’s keen to learn the lance… and his vain reasons for doing so reflect his equally as conceited personality. I want to think that deep down he’s honest and principled, but…” Claude explains, sighing in annoyance. Hilda scrunches up her nose.

“Bleh. Yeah, we don’t have to talk about Lorenz. Unless you’re someone he can use to social climb in the name of the House of Gloucester, he won’t even look you in the eyes when he talks to you.” Hilda grumbles. _Gloucester…_ Byleth pauses. _Didn’t dad take a job for them before?_

Byleth gives up trying to remember, and asks, “All right, three potential magic users. Anyone invested in the sword?” Claude shakes his head, and Byleth’s shoulders sag. She’s observed hundreds of battles and worked with every type of weapon user in those fights; gauntlets, lances, axes, bows, swords, dark magic, and white magic. Despite the sword being her area of expertise and gauntlets having always seemed like the ideal second weapon, she has enough know-how to teach about any of the other weapon classes. _But… It’ll be hard to gain respect from my students if my expertise isn’t useful to any of them._

“No swordsmen in our class. I’m probably the one with the most interest, but I’ve always stuck with my bow and dabbled in axes.” Claude remarks, gesturing to Hilda. “She and Raphael are the resident axe users, and Raphael is more suited for gauntlets if you ask me.”

“Raphael?” Byleth questions, checking the classroom again. She spots a huge blonde boy speaking loudly with a timid boy in glasses, the latter of which looking around nervously for an opportunity to leave. “Is it perhaps the big guy over there?” Big is an understatement; his shirt buttons are literally pulling apart at his chest.  
“I don’t even need to look to confirm that yes, that’s Raphael Kirsten. He comes from a merchant family, but his parents died in an accident.” Claude answers and scratches the back of his head, eyebrows quirked in worry. “Seems like he’s had a rough life. Despite that, he’s just about the most cheerful guy you’ll ever meet. He’s admirable for that, even if most of his cheer leads him to train and eat, and that’s it.” He nods to the spectacled boy, now walking away from a confused looking Raphael. “His friend there is Ignatz Victor, the second son of another merchant family. His older brother is going to take over the family business, so he’s here to become a knight.”

  
“If you ask me though…” Hilda lowers her voice and leans in. “Doesn’t seem like he truly wants to be a knight. He’s probably just doing it to please his parents.” She sighs solemnly. “I can relate to that.”

“Please. The Goneril have a tradition of military prowess, you have more reason than him; he’s clearly meant to be an artist.” Claude scoffs, and Hilda pinches her mouth shut and looks away.

“Claude, it is almost time for us to begin going over the latest roundtable conference in the Alliance, what are you doing outside of the classroom?” A haughty voice floats in from the open corridor behind Claude. He winces, and turns to face the most obnoxious looking noble Byleth has ever seen. His coat ends in coattails complimented by a pompous red rose pinned to his lapel, and his horse-like face is framed by an unfortunate haircut on another level; a blunt purple bob that is longer in the front than the back. His eyes are toad-like, but with a sharpness behind them that betrays his single-minded appearance. Byleth suddenly finds herself under that gaze, and after doing a once over of her, he smiles as dashingly as he can muster and pushes past Claude to introduce himself.

“Ah. You must be that renowned mercenary who rescued Claude. Honestly, you should not have troubled yourself over likes of him. Perhaps you’d like to join me for a cup of tea sometime instead.” He bows with a flourish, Hilda standing horrified behind him and Claude rubbing his temples in irritation. “My name is Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. You will want to remember it.” Stunned, Byleth says nothing. He raises himself back up to his full height, about a head taller than Byleth, and does not look her in the eyes.

“Hey big-shot, try not to hit on a potential knight of Seiros.” Claude warns, speaking a little too loudly. Students start to look in their direction, and Lorenz whips around in fury.

“Do not be so crude, Claude.” He sneers, weaponizing his emphasis on crude as if to implicate it further than simply this interaction. The profound distaste twisted in Lorenz’ features makes Byleth recognize the looks of scorn the other students and staff shot at Claude earlier, and she feels terrifically abhorrent for not recognizing their prejudice sooner. _Of course. I noticed it when I first met him. It’s his skin._ Embarrassment and ignorance compels her to say nothing, and to her dismay, it seems Claude is well versed in handling this kind of ignorance. "If you hope to lead the Alliance one day, you would do best to develop a noble demeanor, as to represent the highest echelons of society with dignity-” Lorenz begins to lecture, but Claude cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a turn of his heel.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s time to go over the meeting now.” He begins to walk into the classroom, Hilda and Lorenz following suit. Claude turns to Byleth once the two have gone ahead of him. “Sorry about him; house Gloucester has been vying for the Reigan house’s power for years now. This petty one-upping behavior is standard for Alliance nobility.” He sighs, and Byleth blinks at his response. She has never heard a noble, let alone a Lord, complain about the nobility system from which they directly benefit. Claude continues, donning his smile. “Despite the discord in the Golden Deer, I bet you’d like us. We’re not as… difficult as the other two.” Byleth quirks an eyebrow and Claude laughs, an edge of genuine amusement to it. “I know, I know, but believe me.” He nods towards the other two classrooms, mostly empty. “These guys have established hierarchy. Us? We’ve got the most commoners and a leader who knows his way around a bow just as well as they do. And, well, knowing to hunt isn’t exactly a skill the nobility cherish.” He turns back to Byleth, smiling. “So, Teach? Thinking of choosing to teach the Golden Deer?”

Byleth knows his angle. She knows he’s pushing for her to join by pointing out how many people are like her in the Golden Deer. And she can’t deny the clash of strong personalities makes her think of her rowdy mercenary band learning to trust one another despite those aforementioned personalities. Adding a nickname to the end draws her in from a personal standpoint. Above all, Byleth likes Claude. She likes his initial distrust that gives way to curiosity. She relates to his bonding done through information gathering and testing her responses to him, like he’s hoping in every turn that she’ll prove him wrong. That she’ll defy his expectations, treat him differently than he’s been treated, probably by people like Lorenz. She sees herself in him; a Byleth born with emotions and status, a Byleth who uses both to get what she wants, rather than peering into every interaction she can watch in hopes of being able to elicit a connection with others. Seeing oneself in someone else does not necessarily mean she sees only the good in him, she also sees the manipulation and secrets swimming behind his well painted mask, as well as the trouble that follows those who cannot trust.

But… she’s never had a friend before. And every time she pictures who that person might be, she pictures someone just a little too much like Claude.

“Maybe.” She answers. “You still haven’t told me about the last student in your house.” Claude looks at her, puzzled. She points at him, “You.”

Claude looks shocked, but he flashes a grin that cracks with unfeigned amusement, but only traces. “As luck would have it, I’m pretty curious about you as well. But…” and he winks at her, erasing the signs of unguarded emotion. “What’s life without a bit of mystery? Let’s just spend the next year or so learning about each other, little by little.”

“Hm.” Byleth considers. “Well, you’ll know before the end of the day what my choice is.”

“I’ll take you not instantly throwing us out of your consideration as a win for the Alliance, so I suppose I’m obligated to be happy.” He tosses one last fake smile her way, and walks into the classroom. “Later, Teach.”

_____________________________

After spending most of the early morning roaming around the Monastery and locating the dining hall, greenhouse, and pond (plenty of fish for Byleth to catch, which was a very exciting discovery), Byleth decides to return to the training grounds. At best, she’ll be able to get in some training that’ll hopefully make her relax. At worst, she'll introduce herself to potential new allies. She hears the definite sounds of students sparring, braces herself, and walks through the gates. The sight of Dimitri sparring with the other Blue Lions greets her. Two mages and an archer practice their aim on the far side of the training grounds, Byleth captivated by the wind magic the younger mage blasts into the target. Dimitri spars in the opposite corner, countering a large, white haired man with a bulky earring and dark skin, while a girl with braided hay-colored hair watches intently, mimicking Dimitri’s lance maneuvers with her own practice spear. A tall, handsome redhead watches on, seemingly poking fun at the three sparring in front of him until the braided girl whips around and shoves him, though she doesn’t actually seem to mind his commentary. In comparison to the Golden Deer, the Blue Lions seem cohesive, like they would rather work together than try to one-up each other like Byleth would imagine Leonie doing. That is, everyone but a skulking boy with sharp, honey colored eyes and long black hair tied in a bun. He’s separated from everyone else, slashing at a dummy with a training sword, wielding his weapon with impeccable form and speed. _Dimitri seems occupied, maybe I’ll be able to befriend the lone wolf with a sword_ Byleth remarks. Upon hearing footsteps approaching, the young man lowers his sword and faces Byleth with intense irritation.

“Sylvain, for the fucking last time- oh. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” He corrects, though his cold tone barely shifts from the insult to the apology. Pausing for a moment, recognition colors his eyes. “You’re the mercenary who helped the Boar. He says you’re quite skilled, and he doesn’t just say things like that. Have time to spar?” He twists his sword experimentally in his hand, a competitive smile pulling at his lips.

“The Boar?” Byleth asks. _Dimitri?_

The swordsman tosses his head towards Dimitri, not even turning his eyes in his direction. “Him. Don’t let his mask fool you, he’s an unfeeling beast, taking pleasure in the slaughter of his victims.”

“Felix, literally no one thinks that but you.” A playful voice sighs from Byleth’s periphery. She turns to see the redhead has stopped watching Dimitri spar and is now walking over. Felix glowers at the newcomer, and turns back to his training dummy. The redhead turns to Byleth, giving her an obvious once-over; he might as well have wolf whistled in her face. “Well, well! It must be my lucky day today, being graced by the presence of such a beauty. I’m Sylvain Jose Gautier. Feel free to say hi whenever you like.” He winks at her. Byleth regards his open attire; coat completely unbuttoned to show an inelegant amount of his white button down underneath, also unbuttoned at the top. He’s tall, handsome, with perfectly tousled hair, and she can see from his bare forearms that he’s just the right amount of toned to be considered handsome. Byleth, however, is attuned to this kind of bastard, and so it seems is Felix.

“If you could take your head out of your womanizing arse for two seconds, Sylvain, you might recognize her as the mercenary who saved Dimitri’s life, not one of your potential conquests.” Felix growls. Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, at Felix’s tone or at Byleth’s skill, she does not know. “Maybe if you devoted attention to anything but skirt chasing you’d be able to recognize skill.”

“Harsh.” Sylvain deadpans, not insulted at all. “Just because a lady is lovely doesn’t mean I can’t also appreciate her for her skill.” He smiles at Byleth again.

“And this lovely lady has used her skill to break the wrists of less incorrigible men.” Byleth warns, and Sylvain takes a step back. Felix snorts without a smile, but Byleth feels that’s as close as a laugh she’ll get from him.

“All right, all right. I apologize.” Sylvain says sheepishly, hands held up in surrender. “I’ll go ahead and assume Felix hasn’t introduced himself, so allow me to; this is Felix Hugo Fraldarius, he’s from the house Fraldarius just south of Gautier territory in the far northeast of Faerghus. And we-” His eyes glitter with mischief, and he runs over and snags Felix in a crushing one armed hug. Felix yelps in surprise, but it seems Sylvain’s muscles aren’t just a vanity show and Felix struggles against his grip. “-are very best friends.” Felix finally throws Sylvain off his shoulders, furious blush plastering his cheeks, and goes to strike him with his training sword, but Sylvain dodges out of the way, laughing.

“Pick up a damn lance right now, I wouldn’t feel good skewering an unarmed man.” Felix snarls, his intimidation undercut by Sylvain’s amused smile and a flush still covering Felix’s face.

“Oh, Felix, would you care to spar? I just finished up with Dedue and- Oh! Hello!” Dimitri’s voice drifts in from behind, giving a curt bow in greeting as Byleth turns to face him. Felix’s frown cuts deeper and his eyes narrow.

“Only if you stop walking on your hind legs, boar.” Felix growls, turning from Dimitri. “You’re not fooling me with that human act.” Sylvain flinches, but Dimitri only sighs in grim acceptance.

“Fe-” Sylvain starts, but Felix cuts him off.

“Shut up. If you aren’t going to train, I’m going to leave.” He snaps at Sylvain. Finally, Felix faces Dimitri and looks him in the eyes, “I don’t make a habit of talking to beasts.” And with that, he leaves his friends, both looking more worriedly at his retreating form than wounded at his words. A pensive silence follows, Sylvain’s expression equal parts exasperated and frustrated, clashing with Dimitri’s empty, resigned stare. Byleth tries her best not to move, wishing she could dissolve into the sounds of sparring and magic surrounding them. Dimitri breaks the silence first, his voice dragging Sylvain’s concerned look back to him.

“I apologize for Felix’s behavior.” Dimitri states, tone so guarded by stiff politeness that Byleth cannot tell the effects of Felix’s words. “He, Sylvain, Ingrid, and I have been friends since birth.” He gestures towards the young woman sparring with whom Byleth assumes was Dimitri’s previous partner, Dedue, her blonde braid whipping behind her as she deftly maneuvers her lance to parry Dedue’s axe. “I promise he used to be the picture of a sensitive, driven noble, even when we were children. But… after the tragedy four years ago, it seems we’ve all changed.” Dimitri’s gaze drops quickly, but Byleth catches his eyes just enough to see the ice from the battlefield has returned. The hair on the back of her neck prickles, and Felix’s words force themselves to the front of her thoughts; _“Don’t let his mask fool you, he’s an unfeeling beast, taking pleasure in the slaughter of his victims.”_

“Please, your highness. As badly as Felix wants to pretend he doesn’t care for any of us, he wouldn’t stick around for so long if he didn’t truly want to.” Sylvain offers, putting his hands on his hips and donning a bright smile. Dimitri looks up, ice melted by Sylvain’s positivity. “He’s said worse to me, and unfortunately for him, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll go catch him now- Oh?” He stops his initial stride towards Felix once he sees a female student rubbing her forearm in pain, headed towards the exit. “Well, Felix will get over it. Hey!” He calls, mussing his hair and confidently marching towards the student. “Are you hurt? Here, let me walk you to the infirmary. No, don’t worry! It’s no problem. My name is Sylvain, what’s yours?” The conversation trails off as they leave, Sylvain’s charming smile on full display.

“For a Kingdom renowned for its knights, you seem to be the only knightly member of the house.” Byleth remarks once Sylvain’s voice drifts from the training grounds. Dimitri gives a polite laugh, shaking his head.

“We need some work, that is for sure, but I can assure you that you will find no other students more willing to improve. Well…” Dimitri pauses. “Maybe not Sylvain. I promise we’re working on his… habits… and he hasn’t harmed anyone more than the pain of a rejection from an adolescent tryst. The other Lions are more knightly, would you care to learn more?”

Byleth nods, but she can’t help but zone out as Dimitri points out his other classmates. Her mind turns to Sylvain and Felix. _For someone who seems so shallow, I think he may be more honest than people give him credit for… I mean, he did just hit on me, get rejected and threatened, and yet he still has a pleasant smile and continued the conversation. And he seems to care for Felix and Dimitri, despite potential shared trauma. As for Felix…_ she turns to face where he stepped out of the training grounds. _He’s dead set on Dimitri being some monster. I saw the darkness behind his eyes too but… Felix can’t be right, there’s no way kind and polite Dimitri houses some murderous soul._

Byleth hums in disappointment. She knows there’s too much history between the Blue Lions for her to lead them. She doesn’t even remember the tragedy four years ago that caused the damage hanging over the student’s heads, and attempting to lead them without being able to acknowledge their pain is a recipe for further isolating them into their trauma. And… someone who is either unaware of his dark side or unable to confront it, as Dimitri seems to be, is incompatible with Byleth’s blank emotional state. He needs someone who can show him empathy so he can open up and consistency so he can make it through relapses, and she can’t even smile without obviating how mechanical it feels. _They seem connected and loyal to each other, I hope that will be enough._ Byleth comes back to the conversation as Dimitri finishes introducing the last of the students in the training area.

“I am certain everyone will approach your lectures with great enthusiasm.” Dimitri finishes, Byleth hiding how she winces at the word “lecture,” feeling ever unprepared for her new job. He smiles at her and asks, “When are you to decide which class you will lead?”

“By this afternoon. I met with Claude and the Golden Deer earlier this morning.” She glances to the clocktower, face showing that it is almost noon. “I still have to meet Edelgard to speak about the Black Eagles.” Dimitri smiles too easily, like he’s rehearsed his reaction to Edelgard’s name. Byleth recalls their argument on the way to the monastery, and how quickly the two had gone at each other’s throats. Even Claude seemed a little disturbed.

“Well, hearing you are to become a professor is delightful news. I still have much to learn, but I’m confident I could benefit greatly from your guidance. I do hope you will consider the Blue Lions.” Dimitri punctuates his request with a bow, as princely and practiced as his smile. Byleth tries to return a practiced smile of her own, but she is acutely aware of how similar they look, two husks trying to convince the world that they feel. It makes her stomach churn.

__________________

The distance from the training grounds to the dining hall across the Monastery feels too great for Byleth, so she walks the much shorter distance to her room to recover from the distressing encounter with the Blue Lions. Still, the doorknob feels too heavy in Byleth’s hand and the dark wood chair too solid under her legs when she sits. She puts her head down into her arms on the desk, hoping for an uncomfortable nap that the bed cannot give her. The hope is fleeting, as Byleth hears a knock at her door and hushed voices whispering from behind it. She recognizes Edelgard’s stern shushing, and gladly goes to the door. Edelgard and two other young women stand in front of Byleth, countering Edelgard’s twitchy smile with two genuine grins of welcome, along with a plate of what seems to be delightful pheasant roast.

“Hello… I thought I saw you return to your room without having lunch. New places are hard, I understand.” Edelgard nods, dropping her courteous smile and settling comfortably into her apprising scowl. “Is it alright if we keep you company? You will be stationed here for a while, yes? Pity you will not be lending your strength to the empire.”

“Oh, Edie, we’ll still be sharing the Monastery with her, not all hope is lost.” The tall girl giggles in a melodic voice, tossing her glossy brown hair behind her shoulder. Her hat, earrings, short skirt, and low-cut shirt suggest what Byleth tries not to assume. _Giving a nickname to the mighty Edelgard is a sign of power though, that’s for sure_. “My name is Dorothea Arnault, it’s lovely to meet you.” She smiles brilliantly, green eyes glittering. Unlike most of the other students she’s met, Byleth notes, Dorothea does not have any bulk in significant muscular areas most soldiers develop. Even the delicate Hilda had hints of biceps neatly tucked away under her rolled up sleeves.

She must be a mage, Byleth realizes, excited by the thought. Mages rarely turn to mercenary work; the art is much better used in scholarly discoveries and too draining to be successful for someone who makes coin killing. Byleth has always been interested in learning magic, but Jeralt could never figure out how to teach her to cultivate any faith or reason to wield white or dark magic respectively. _“Too dense to teach,”_ he had always grunted, leaving Byleth to wish they could take a long-term job near a school of sorcery. Byleth nods at Dorothea, hoping to convey her interest.

“I am called Petra Macneary. I am pleased to be meeting with… no, I am pleased to have met you.” The tanned young woman stutters politely, placing her hand to her heart and giving a short bow. She has a sharp purple crescent framing her right eye and similar markings shadowing the outside edges of her eyes, her thick hair the same shade of purple, braided into an elegant cascade from the top of her scalp. She’s short, almost as small as Edelgard, but her calves are cut and her palms look calloused from handling weaponry. “I have apologies for my language, Fódlan is giving great difficulty to learn.” _Ah. I knew those markings were too peculiar to be of Fódlan nobility._

“Petra is the princess to Brigid, an archipelago to the west of the coast and a vassal state of the Empire.” Edelgard explains, and Petra nods resolutely. _Vassal state… If she’s a princess, shouldn’t there be plenty of educational opportunities for her to take?_

  
“And Petra, never apologize for your accent.” Dorothea chides. “Don’t let these noble fools run circles around you, I can bet none of those arseholes know more than one language.” Just like Leonie, Byleth instantly takes to Dorothea.

Edelgard laughs derisively. “Dorothea’s right, we have more than our fair share of vexing nobles in our house, as per Empire tradition.” Byleth wants to push the subject, and the three women in front of her are giving her more energy than a nap would. Plus, the pheasant will get cold if she does not invite them in.

“Please, come in.” Byelth says, opening the door fully. They thank her in unison, passing the hot food to Byleth on their way in.

“Seems they stuck you in the downstairs commoners section of the dorms even though you’re a potential knight.” Dorothea scowls, sitting on the bed. “How disrespectful.”

“I’m not sure if this is permanent.” Byleth shrugs, remembering Seteth’s words to hide her professorship for now.

“Hmph. It’s probably to save face with the noble donors, if you ask me. Has Seteth given you the whole ‘As a rule, we try to avoid discrimination based on social status here, but the nobility can be quite insistent when it comes to matters of propriety’ schtick yet?” Dorothea huffs, crossing her arms and lowering her voice in a shockingly accurate depiction of Seteth. “It’s already disheartening enough being the only commoner in the Black Eagles house.”

“Really?” Byleth asks, fork hovering over which bite to take first. The lavish surroundings may make Byleth nervous, but she will never turn down such an incredible looking meal. Dorothea nods with a sigh, and dramatically flips her hair and stares at Byleth like a primadonna.

“Yes, I am only too aware of that fact. I awed the entire Empire nobility in my performances as a diva in the Mittlefrank Opera, and despite all their kindness then, it seems I am not worthy to sleep on the same level as their kind. They had lavish proposals to me daily, and yet now that I am among them and actively seeking to secure a future with one of them, nothing.”

“Dorothea, you may want to curb your anti-nobility sentiments around strangers.” Edelgard warns, looking cautiously over at Byleth, who shakes her head.

“I’ve worked for the nobility as a commoner as well, don’t worry.” Byleth assures. Dorothea practically glows. _She’s here to social climb? To each their own, I suppose…_ “You used to be an opera singer?” Byleth tries, biting into the thigh of the pheasant. It’s delicious, and the tartness of the berry sauce compliments the tender cut of meat. Dorothea frowns a little.

“A diva, actually. You mean you’ve never heard of me?” Dorothea questions, and Byleth swallows hard. Either this is another case Byleth missing the obvious, or Dorothea is more full of herself than she thought.

“Her singing is full of delightfulness!” Petra exclaims, making Dorothea blush. “I pass her room to arrive at mine, and I am overhearing her at times. It is making me… it makes me happy.” Byleth catches the sweetness behind Petra’s smile.

“Oh Petra, you are too sweet!” Dorothea coos. “If I weren’t looking for a husband to take care of me, I’d love for you to do so.” Byleth wonders briefly if the reason the charismatic, single Dorothea cannot find a husband is because she can’t see when someone is interested. _Wait… if Petra has to cross Dorothea’s room to get to hers…_

“Petra, does that mean you are on the first floor as well?” Byleth asks. Petra nods, and Edelgard’s eyes harden.

“It’s a bit more of that Empire nonsense I was speaking on.” Edelgard cuts in. “But it can’t be helped. We have another noble on the first floor. Speaking of-” Edelagard leans on one hip, looking down on Byleth eating. “Is there anyone else I can introduce you to?”

Upon being asked, Byleth realizes that, no, other than the three women in front of her, the Black Eagles do not catch her eye. How tied down they are to the Empire, to a dynasty over a thousand years old, with strict noble decorum and seemingly no way for commoners to rise up, other than people like Dorothea who can only rise by pleasing the nobility. She has heavy suspicions about Petra being in Fódlan as well; there is no way she is only here for a better education, she’s a damn princess, the best educational institutions in Brigid would fight over the honor of educating her. And Edelgard… Byleth saved her life at the cost of her own, but she didn’t do it because she wanted to serve her. She did it because she saw a girl, someone who hadn’t yet lived to be Byleth’s age, facing her death and thinking of all the things she has yet to do. That girl Byleth saved does not feel like the young woman imposing her authority on Byleth, taking control of a space that is not hers, whatever her reasons may be. Perhaps Edelgard needs Byleth to achieve those goals that flashed before her eyes along with Kostas’ axe, but Byleth does not serve; she is not a vassal, and she cannot be convinced to be one for a princess whose throne is built on thousands of years of privileging the nobility.

“I suppose.” She lies, shoveling more food into her mouth and relying on her blank face to hide it. Edelgard doesn’t seem to detect her lie, and lists her classmates, evaluating them all like an Empress evaluates her cabinet.

____________________________

The clock strikes three as soon as Byleth enters the audience chamber, doors shutting on the last chime. Rhea smiles at Byleth, who tries her best to smile back, but Seteth’s glare stymies her efforts. The other two professors turn to face her; one in a long white coat and a low cut dress with long slits on either side, and the other bearing a monocle and a brown overcoat over his scholarly attire.

“Professor,” Rhea starts, and Byleth is suddenly a little more enamored with her title. “How are you enjoying your time at the academy thus far? I hope you have found our halls brimming with the vitality of well intentioned souls.” She gestures to the other teachers with a delicate wave of her hand. “This is Manuela and Hanneman, the academy’s physician and crest scholar, respectively. They have agreed to let you pick a house first, as you are new.” Byleth nods to the both of them, Manuela returning it with a playful wave and Hanneman with a bow of his own. _Crest scholar?_

“The Black Eagles, the Blue Lions, and the Golden Deer. Loath to admit it, but you are to take charge of one of the houses. Let us get to the point.” Seteth sighs, settling his superior gaze over Byleth. “Which of these houses will you choose.”

Yesterday, Byleth was on her way to another job in the Kingdom with her father and a handful of people whose paths crossed hers ever so briefly. Now, she’s faced with a decision that will not just cross, but overlap her path with many, many others. Away from her father, away from her nomadic life as a mercenary, paving the way to her own destination where she can discover her own past, and determine her own future.

She hopes Jeralt will stay with her.

And she hopes a certain pair of green eyes set on a guarded face will join her along the way.

“The Golden Deer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been my "Petra is with the commoners because the Empire doesn't actually respect her" propaganda hope you enjoyed. This has also been my "the creators of this game missed an opportunity to make a really impactful story-line about racial discrimination by talking explicitly about skin color" propaganda.
> 
> All the main players have been set, let's see how the mock battle goes!


	4. The Mock Battle

The mock battle takes place on a grassy hillside covered in a handful of ruins not far from Garreg Mach, sparsely decorated with makeshift barricades left over from the previous mock battles. Because last year’s Golden Deer class lost, Byleth got the final pick for the starting position. She tried to point out how unfair that was, seeing as her current class started only a few weeks before she arrived, but Seteth wouldn’t budge on the tradition.

Upon seeing their disadvantageous positioning, she sighs profoundly. The Blue Lions are situated to their right, protected by a patch of trees and buttressed in an old ruin, and the Black Eagles to their left, behind a long barricade of pikes meeting a spread of trees that corner them into an enviably defensive position. The Golden Deer, however, start in a grassy clearing facing the forest and barricade, forcing Byleth into an offensive position with no defense to hide behind.

“Yikes. Talk about a disadvantage.” Claude cringes as Byleth leads her clutch of students to their starting point. Only five units are allowed to fight on each side, two of which must be the professor and the house leader, so Byleth spent the better part of the week figuring out how to break it to Leonie and Lorenz that they would not be participating.

She managed to pacify Leonie by appealing to her practical side and spending a lot of time working on strategy with her, which made explaining why she needed a variety of weapons for this fight, rather than both Claude and her on bows, much easier. Lorenz was tougher; he would not stop insisting that Byleth was undermining House Gloucester by denying him an opportunity to intervene with House Reigan’s shallow battle tactics. Claude absolutely did not help, going as far as to joke within earshot about putting some mild stomach poison in their opponents’ lunch.

Hilda was the other headache of the week, and judging by her furrowed brow and axe dragging on the ground behind her, it seems her constant complaints will not let up now that their disadvantage is right in their faces.

“Ugh! Professor, I’m telling you, we’re already at a disadvantage. You don’t need me adding my delicate flower… ness… to the already grim-looking equation.” She protests, reaching for a description of frailty she has not already caterwauled to Byleth this week, or loudly to Marianne when Byleth walks past her desk.

“Goddess, for the last time, Hilda, you’re stronger than everyone else here. Just swing your axe at full strength for once and I promise the battle will be over soon.” Byleth sighs, fixing her gauntlets over her wrists and knuckles. Personally, Byleth is jumping at the chance to finally prove herself to her students by deftly commanding them to a total victory. Doesn’t hurt that she’d been itching to try out her new weapon class against something that would fight back, unlike the dummies she’d been punching all week.

“U-um…” Marianne begins, and Byleth braces herself. Convincing her to take part of the mock battle was decently easy; as the only healer, it was obvious. However, Byleth hopes dearly that the next thing that comes out of her mouth isn’t as self-deprecating and concerning as every other exchange she’s had with her. “I-I will do my best.” Byleth sighs in relief, jumping on to her rare moment of positivity.

“Thank you, Marianne, for being the voice of optimism.” She says, staring at Hilda in hopes of spreading some determination. Marianne and Hilda hang out outside of class often, strangely enough. It seems more like Hilda babbling on to someone too shy to tell her to be quiet, but Marianne gets some company and Hilda talks to someone who’s not as terrible an influence as Claude. The two of them together in class can be insufferable, for Claude’s constant questions and Hilda not bothering to disguise her disinterest.

 _All things considered,_ Byleth remembers, _the lectures could be going so much worse_. After the initial shock of her being almost their age and their professor, her background as a mercenary helped more than she had thought. Having actual battle experience helps when Lysithea or Claude asks an annoyingly specific question, the former because she’s a good student and the latter because he’s an arse. Poor Raphael and Leonie have to interrupt every so often because Byleth rarely transcribes what she says onto the blackboard, and not everyone can take notes as fast as the aforementioned scholar and smartass. Nevertheless, those are tangible improvements she can work on; write more things on the board, redirect questions towards a more relevant topic. And make Lorenz and Hilda take notes.

The sound of Jeralt’s horse galloping over signals Byleth to gather Lysithea, Marianne, Hilda, and Claude around her, all at attention for their next instructions.

“You have roughly ten minutes to get into position. Once you hear the trumpet sound, the battle is on. I’ll be watching from the sidelines with your other classmates and escorting students who yield off of the battlefield, so whenever you see me, maybe back off.” Jeralt instructs, already starting to take off. Byleth nods, turning to her students to make sure they’re all appropriately equipped: she with her sword and gauntlets, Claude has both a bow and an axe at his disposal, and Hilda with just her axe. Marianne and Lysithea have nothing other than their spells to cast.

“I cannot wait to get this over with…” Hilda grumbles, shifting her weight onto one hip and inspecting her fingernails. Claude’s eyes glimmer with opportunity.

“Actually, I may have a plan to finish this as quickly as possible.” He chimes in casually, as if he hasn’t calculated this plan for nights, as Byleth guesses. She gestures for him to go on, as the other success of this weeks' lectures was Claude’s exceptional strategical mind. He managed to figure out a scenario where he could defend a port with a handful of ships at half capacity against an armada; gather all soldiers onto one or two vessels, set fire to the other ones, and target the commander’s ship. Byleth pointed out that would probably piss off the benefactors of those burnt ships, but Claude shrugged and said they could be mollified, what matters is the victory. _“They got what they wanted, right?”_

He turns to face the battlefield with the same matter-of-fact attitude, gesturing towards the Black Eagle’s wall. “If her highness is smart, which I know she is, she will position herself in the corner between the barricade and the forest, to protect the commander most efficiently. With her is most likely a powerful unit that cannot fight on the front lines, like a mage, either Hubert, her creepy retainer, or Dorothea, the ex-songstress.” He explains, pacing with a hand to his chin. Byleth has seen Dorothea once or twice at the training grounds, and after being incredibly pleasant to talk to, she’d fry a training dummy with barely a blink. “That leaves the front lines, which I doubt will be their frail archer Bernadetta or their even feebler healer Linhardt. So…” He points to the area in front if the wall, closest to the Golden Deer’s starting position. “We’re likely to face a combination of either Petra, who’s incredibly quick with a sword, Caspar, or Ferdinand.”

“In that case,” Byleth offers, and Claude gives her the floor. “I think it would be best if myself and Hilda took them on first.”

“Right on, Teach.” Claude agrees, but he doesn’t stop there. “Now, for the Blue Lions. I think Dimitri will probably start his class behind the treeline entirely, but he’d place himself not far from the front lines, as the model of a chivalrous prince. His vassal Dedue won’t be far, and he’s the real danger; he’s a huge guy who can withstand a lot of hits, and if he’s near Dimitri, who could probably skewer me with a wooden lance if he tried, that’s a bad combination. We’ll be in even worse shape if he chose the bulky Sylvain or quick Felix as the furthest line of defense, but once again, knowing Dimitri, I think he’ll back his class up with their healer Mercedes. I recommend that Lysithea and I meet their front lines with a ranged front of our own; it’ll keep him away and defend us from a possible early rush from the Black Eagles.”

“Right then, we’re set to loop around to the left and eliminate the Black Eagles first, as discussed.” Byleth sums up. “Take your positions-”

“With your permission, Teach,” Claude interrupts. “I’d like to finish my plan. I haven’t said how we’ll finish this quickly yet.” Byelth halts, confused. They don’t have an area to defend, so there’s no harm in abandoning their post to route the enemy as carefully as possible. “Please?” Claude asks once more, not so much begging as appealing to Byleth’s curiosity and his confidence in his tactical abilities. Byleth gestures for him to continue, and Claude wastes no time.

“I was thinking we could take both houses on at once.”

“Claude, that’s ridiculous-” Byleth protests. Does she have to point out the risks about two mages on a team to Claude of all people? He should know they aren’t good at front line fights like he’s suggesting. But, he puts up his hand to stop her.

“I know, I know. But, like Hilda said, we’re in a really bad position to start out with; going around either side leaves our flank exposed. But, if we fortify both sides and advance through the middle,” Claude explains, looking towards the bare expanse of their starting position. “Not only do we have enough room to fight both of the front lines fighters, but it will take much longer for Edelgard and her mage to reach our position. We can systematically take out the front lines of both houses and have time to finish off Dimitri before we have to face Edelgard.” Byleth is starting to consider this plan, but she sees Hilda and Marianne’s doubt clearly etched into their faces. Claude turns to them before Byleth can, again as calculated as if he had rehearsed this plan for days. “We’re strong enough. Teach has the battle experience no one at the Officer’s Academy has; I’ve seen it firsthand. We’ll make this a quick battle and show the other two houses that we are not to be underestimated.”

Claude splays his hands in front of him, stepping into his role as leader properly for the first time since Byleth has met him. In place of the knives in his eyes vigilantly guarding his expression lies a sharpness more willing to be accessed; to his wit and endless scenarios he’s carefully planned for and found solutions to. And, to Byleth’s relief, there’s nothing manipulative hiding behind his now dropped guard. He’s not seeing her as a means to his end, but to all of them as irreplaceable parts of a collective vision he has the clarity to discern. Like, for example, kicking the other classes’ arses with an air of ease that will rub dirt into their wounds.

“This is a chance for us to change the view of the Alliance as fragmented and doomed to individual noble greed. Let’s take out these established monarchies and show them how capable our disparate walks of life can be when brought together!” _Unity between different walks of life?_ Byleth considers. _Is this going to work? That… does not always seem to be the Alliance’s goals, if Lorenz is to be believed._ Even more bewildering is everything about Claude suggests this is not a tactic. Byleth hopes for his sake that his Noble classmates will agree with his implication, a vision dauntingly close to suggesting nobility and common folk are not so different.

“I’ve gotta say, Claude,” Hilda chirps, slinging her axe over her shoulder. “You sure know how to make a lady care about finishing a fight quick. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You won’t.” He answers, smiling. She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs before answering. “Call it a hunch, Hilda. Teach-” He turns to Byleth, and everyone’s eyes follow his. _They’re novices,_ Byleth thinks, _this is a fake battle for a grade, essentially. We’re at a severe disadvantage and have only begun to unite with Claude’s little speech in the last minute. So why_ , she shivers. Marianne carefully bent over her hands, bangs and bags under her eyes shadowing her blank expression into something hauntingly calm, like the eye of a storm. Lysithea’s hands are aglow with a bubbling purple Miasma magic, her pale skin and white hair luminescent in their crossfire, brimming with potent magic. The sunny smile on Hilda’s face turns threatening with the knowledge that her monster strength lies disguised under that rosy disposition. Then there’s Claude, sharp and devastatingly confident, holding his comrade’s determination like putty in the palm of his hand. _Why are they fully convincing me there is no victory more assured?_

Claude cocks his head towards the battlefield. “You’re the commander. We’re in your capable hands now.”

“Well then,” Byleth answers, drawing her sword and giving it an experimental twirl. “Allow me to demonstrate.” She and Hilda take up position facing the Black Eagles as Claude and Lysithea cover their flank, Marianne bolstered behind them all.

The signal sounds for the start of the fight, and the sound of Claude’s bowstring being drawn sends the Golden Deer into battle.

____________________________

“The winner of this mock battle is… The Golden Deer House!” Jeralt’s voice booms over the battlefield as Hanneman surrenders to Byleth’s sword. An unceremoniously loud sigh erupts not far behind Byleth, followed by the sounds of Hilda crumpling to the ground in exhaustion. Lysithea rests her hands on her legs and tries to catch her breath as Marianne passes a worried hand aglow with white magic over her shoulders. Even with Claude’s plan being 80% correct, the battle was hard won. Edelgard followed Claude’s predictions exactly, but Hilda was almost knocked unconscious by an unexpected miasma spell bursting from the front lines, not where Claude had said it would be. Claude and Lysithea ran into problems on the Blue Lion front as well, struggling to take out Dedue from a distance before his devastating axe joins Dimitri’s monstrous lance swings at Claude’s neck. It took every ounce of Marianne’s healing abilities (and some) to get them through the battle, but in the end, every single Golden Deer student continues to stand while the other leaders lick their wounds from the sidelines.

“Ah, the taste of victory is sugary sweet! Even if it’s just a mock battle.” Claude cheers, gingerly patting at his newly christened black eye. Dimitri had landed a great swipe on Claude’s face after the latter taunted him about a possible crush on Edelgard, so Byleth feels no sympathy. At least Claude had the common decency to help Dimitri back up after Lysithea sent him flying, though Byleth swears they held hands a little too long for two rivals…

 _Whatever. It’s none of my business what their lordships get up to. And I’m pretty sure if I read into this any further I could be burned at the stake or something._ Byleth sheathes her sword and turns to the smiling Claude, approaching her with his hand out.

“Brilliant win, Teach. I've been anticipating that magic moment when your tactics and my schemes entwined, and you did not disappoint.” He compliments, shaking Byleth’s hand. “That composed expression you always sport like a permanent mask is a perfect complement to my ruthless scheme. That's a joke, of course. Mostly. I had backup plans.” Byleth doesn’t know whether to be worried that he’s already worked her into a role for his schemes, or that he has worse schemes to use if necessary.

“Everyone did well, you should extend the congratulations to your classmates.” Byleth responds. Claude rolls his eyes with a smirk.

“Playing ignorant as to the quality of your command and deflecting the praise to your students. You really are a model professor, Teach.” He teases, and Byleth shrugs out a half smile. Marianne, Lysithea, and Hilda meet up with the two, excitedly chattering about their victory. Claude turns to them, practiced smile on full display. “What say you guys to a victory feast? Teach here has yet to experience my renowned home cooking, and I’m pretty sure I can swipe some finely aged cheese from the dining hall for just this occasion.” Lysithea agrees enthusiastically, and Hilda starts whispering to Marianne about how fast Lorenz will attempt to shut down the merriment with his denouncement of Claude’s tactics.

Byleth lets out a sigh, finally, and rubs where Dorothea’s lightning ripped through her abdomen moments prior. _Hard won indeed, but…_ she looks over at the Golden Deer, now being joined by their classmates who couldn’t participate in the battle. _Seems this is a group that appreciates a victory, there must be more to what Claude mentioned of their house not being taken seriously. And,_ she pauses, watching Leonie give a full body hug to her classmates of only a few weeks. _There’s more hope for these guys than I thought. They’re far too different and dead set in their personalities for much hope of cooperation, but with Claude’s perception and tactical mind, they fall in line quite surprisingly._

 _“You have confidence in these little one, do you not?”_ Sothis chimes in, and Byleth nods with as much of a smile as she can muster. _“Well, they’re no trained mercenaries, but they do seem willing to be whipped into shape.”_

“Maybe they can change me into something more human.” Byleth mumbles, face setting into blankness to prove her point. Sothis shrugs somewhere in the back of Byleth’s mind.

 _“You’re being offered a feast in your honor after simply a week of tutelage and one victory. Maybe they’ll pamper you into something more than simply human.”_ Sothis muses, and Byleth tries a chuckle as she walks over to her students tentatively waiting to praise her renowned battle experience. Unbeknownst to her, Edelgard’s disappointed eyes follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's deadpan interactions with the excitable Golden Deer will never cease to make me so happy, and so will Claude's ability to get them to buckle down and kick some ass. And so does DimiClaude, as much as I love my Claudeleth.
> 
> Shorter chapters from here on out! Uni is picking up and I would rather have a consistent schedule with shorter uploads than big chunks every few weeks (less pressure on me as well). Thank you for reading!


	5. The Start of the Mystery

_Harpstring Moon._

_In honor of the saints whose births or deaths took place under this moon, the people perform music once beloved by those divine beings. Whether by harp, by flute, or voice alone, joyous melodies are shared between farmers as they sew their seeds across the vast plains of Tailtean and Gronder._

Rhea’s smiling form greets Byleth and Claude as they walk into the audience chamber following their victory in the mock battle, and the creeping feeling of numbing contentment Byleth feels in Rhea’s presence remains unfettered by Seteth’s sharp eyes. Claude, on the other hand, conceals any sentiments of admiration.

“Your work with the students was remarkable. I can see Jeralt trained you well. I do hope you were able to use the occasion to bond with the students?” Rhea asks Byleth, and out of not wanting to disappoint Rhea does Byleth say that she did, even though she feels drastically unqualified to speak on her ability to sense bonds being formed. Regardless, Rhea smiles, haloed by the light flowing in the stained glass behind her. “I am so happy to hear it. Nothing would please me more than if you would use this coming year to grow closer still.”

“Of course,” Seteth interrupts, dragging Byleth out of her involuntary reverie. “The mock battle was mere practice. The real fight is the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, during the Wyvern Moon. You are expected to properly train your students so as not to humiliate the academy during the long-held tradition that is the coming battle.” Ignoring the pointed condescension in Seteth’s last comment, Byleth counts the moons before the battle. _Six. I have six moons to work on these kids until I can maybe get Seteth off my case._ Byleth doesn’t love working for an employer who can’t show a shred of faith in her abilities, which goes double for a long term assignment. Of course, she numbly nods in acknowledgement, and Seteth settles back into his assessing glare. Again, Claude shows no signs of offense, his level stare fixed on his superiors.

Rhea clears her throat, a sound much like tinkling bells in Byleth’s ears. “I have called you here to tell you of your mission for the month ahead. Your class is to dispose of some bandits causing trouble nearby.” Rhea explains. Byleth’s first feeling is relief; taking care of bandits is her specialty, and if that’s all the Officer’s Academy seems to care about training their students for, Byleth will be an excellent teacher. But then, her second reaction sinks in.

“Bandits?” Claude asks cautiously, but Byleth has begun to recognize his subtle inflections. She hears an edge of apprehension hidden in his tone.

“Those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of social standing. Students are no exception.” Seteth lectures, just as sharp to Claude as he is with Byleth. “Each month, before the newly birthed moon departs, each house of students must complete their assigned mission. You shall work to complete the task at hand alongside your students and report back to the archbishop before the deadline. Understood?” Byleth and Claude nod, the former chancing a glance to gauge Claude’s reaction. Unfortunately, the mask he wears over his expressions is much harder to read than his voice, and Byleth garners nothing from him.

 _“Hm. That seems like a familiar trait.”_ Sothis cackles from her place in Byleth’s thoughts, and Byleth shoos her away.

“The knights will support your mission and are prepared to offer their assistance if necessary. Until they notify you for departure, use your time wisely. You are dismissed.” Seteth states, signaling knights at the door to escort the two out before he even finishes his statement. Rhea smiles luminously at Byleth before she retreats to a side room. After that, Byleth practically floats out of the audience chamber.

“Bandits, huh? Not very original, Teach.” Claude complains, too cavalier for someone tasked by a religious authority to kill. Bandits causing problems for local townsfolk is an obvious case of a “moral obligation to help those in need,” as Seteth said, but a lot of bandits loot because the church decided they were not morally obligated to help their needs. A lot of mercenaries Byleth has worked with started out as such bandits, only put on a better path because Jeralt offered what Fódlan society never provided for them; easy access to food, shelter, and pleasant company.

“You need to focus.” Byleth chastises Claude. She wants to tell Claude her concerns about killing for the church, but probably not the best idea to do so right outside the religious authority’s chambers. Besides, as funny of a noble as he is, he is still a high ranking member of society and must therefor house some pretty deep religious beliefs that Byelth does not want to tread on. Rhea’s will can’t be that evil anyway. Claude shrugs her off and dons his unreadable grin.

“Based off of recent events, I’m going to guess the bandits we are hunting are the same ones who attacked us the night we met.” He hums. “Odd of them to attack so near the monastery grounds, don’t you think? They had to have known the knights would be after them the moment they entered the church’s turf.” Byleth pauses at his supposition. It could easily have been desperation that drove them, young nobles loaded with cash and not suited to combat yet sound like ideal targets, but Claude is asking worthwhile questions. He shrugs them off after a moment of pondering. “Fine by me, though. I'm raring for some real combat experience. Any chance to grow is a good thing.” Byleth nods in agreement. _I’ve got to do a real training grounds assessment…_ she thinks. _Taking out bandits for me is routine, but I don’t think anyone here has actually had to kill someone. They’ve got to be ready._

The door to Jeralt’s office opens in the hallway ahead and more relief creeps its way into Byleth’s veins. She excuses herself from Claude, telling him to gather the class for afternoon lectures, and catches up with her Jeralt. His gruff expression turns softer when he realizes the footsteps coming towards him are Byleth’s and not any of the administration (Byleth can’t imagine Jeralt was getting along with Seteth any better than she is). He hides a parcel behind his back as she approaches, squaring his body defensively.

“Hey, kiddo. I was on my way to your quarters to properly congratulate you on your win.” He smiles. “Sorry I couldn’t do it earlier. I went into town last night while you were celebrating with your students to get you something as a reward.” With that, he pulls the square parcel from behind his back and hands it to Byleth. She turns the package in her hands carefully, the clinking inside giving away the delicate sounds of a teapot being rustled around. She almost smiles at Jeralt’s thoughtfulness; she’s always enjoyed tea, although Jeralt never really has. Tea parlors are more expensive than pubs that usually double as inns, and the band always moved around too much for her to own such a delicate object.

“Thank you.” She mumbles, unsure of how to express her thoughts. Jeralt nods knowingly, but his face turns a little more concerned.

“It’s to help adjust to life at the monastery, figured you’d have something to decorate your first real room with. How are you getting on, by the way?” He asks, more serious.

Byleth thinks of Sothis’ constant commentary, Leonie’s insistence on proving she’s better than her, Lorenz and Claude bickering over the most annoying details, Hilda’s unwillingness to put any effort into her lectures, and the shame of eating her lunches alone in her room. As much as she wants to tell Jeralt about her troubles, she knows he’s not well pleased to be stuffed away in the cabinet of a holy army, so she settles on vague complaints.

“I’m… not quite so adjusted.” Byleth decides. Jeralt grunts in acknowledgment.

“I didn't expect it would be easy on you. When we were mercenaries, I handled everything outside of battle. I thought being thrown into a swarm of noble brats to teach would be a bit much for you. It seems I was right to worry.” He sighs. “To make matters worse, Rhea is trying to get you to adjust quite forcefully. I wanted to accompany you on your monthly missions, but she won’t allow it, citing interference with your student-teacher bonding.” Byleth furrows her brow a bit, and Jeralt responds with a heavy shrug. “For now, I'll try to figure out what she wants from you. I don't mind you settling into your life here, but don't let your guard down. Ever.”

With that warning, Jeralt leaves Byleth to fiddle with the bow on the box, wondering if she’ll ever be able to simply have a cup of tea with a friend.

___________________________

Later that week, Claude leads the charge of Golden Deer students into the training grounds where Byleth is experimentally slashing at the dummies she has set up.

“Sometimes, I wish you were roped into joining the knights.” Hilda grumbles, looking in disdain at the obvious signs of physical exertion laid around her. Claude, on the other hand, looks around at Byleth’s setup, a little confused but his smile managing to shield his face.

“Aw, but then she wouldn’t get to know us better. After all, she chose this class just to get closer, right? I’m flattered, really.” He teases, and Byleth shrugs him off, despite how he’s at least a little correct. In a flash, Lorenz appears in front of Claude and berates him for breaking supposed noble decorum. The consistency in which Lorenz appears to chastise Claude convinces Byleth that he’s actually a specter summoned every time Claude says something not befitting the noble class.

“Lorenz, I don’t mind his informal tone, I’m not exactly that senior to you all.” Byleth cuts into Lorenz’s lecture.

“There is no denying your battle prowess, but I cannot shake my discomfort at your new position.” Lorenz whirls around to lecture Byleth as well. “A professor with no previous ties to the church and seemingly no experience in pedagogical techniques? Unheard of.”

“Let’s get something straight, Lorenz. And the rest of you.” Byleth monotones back, shifting her gaze past Lorenz. “If I haven’t made this abundantly clear, don’t care about your statuses, any of you. The only thing that matters on the battlefield is when your opponent will try and kill you, not if they will hesitate because your house has military prowess,” she looks to Hilda, who stiffens, “royal clout,” her eyes bore into Claude’s, and he stares right back with a smile on his face, “or ambitions for elevating itself,” she finishes, deadpanning at Lorenz. “None of that matters when weaponry and magic is involved. All that matters-” and she sweeps her leg under Lorenz’s feet, barely giving him time to let out a breath of surprise before she catches him by his front collar and keeps him from hitting the ground. “Is that you can prevent this from happening.” Lorenz sputters, and she yanks on his front to steady him back on his feet. She walks away from him, unperturbed by the shock and awe on the student’s faces. _Yeah, it’s fun to see Lorenz get beat up, but it won’t be so fun when I do it to the rest of you._ Her stunt does seem to work against Lorenz, as he quiets down and looks her in the eyes for the first time.

“Well, Teach? Where do you want us?” Claude asks, stepping into the silence Byleth does not know how to break.

“Seteth has informed me that our mission this moon is to chase and eradicate the bandits that almost took Claude’s life last moon. That gives me three weeks to prepare you for the ordeal of killing, and how to avoid being killed.” Byleth continues, eyeing the group. Ignatz and Raphael gulp nervously, as do most of the class. _Good, that’s the natural reaction to have._ Claude, however, doesn’t even blink, guarded stare more concerning than ever. “Claude, arrange the students by weapon of choice. I’ll take the archers first.”

After the students are assigned to their section and begins their warm-ups, Byleth directs the archers to the targets on the far side of the training grounds. Leonie goes first, nocking an arrow and scowling at Byleth before turning away proudly. Her shoulders and arms square easily into the drawn position, and she hits the furthest target with ease, arrow digging near the bullseye. She lets out a frustrated growl, and shoots the next, eventually emptying her quiver into the furthest targets, hitting the bullseye with an impressive percentage. Not a single miss either. Byleth decides to challenge her.

“Leonie. You said you wanted to be as good as Jeralt.” Byleth asks, unable to shake the monotone that may offend Leonie. She glowers at Byleth and nods. “How is your riding?”

Leonie drops her glare to smile proudly. “I haven’t been able to practice much, though I’d say it’s not bad. Stealthily killing game by horse isn’t very practical, but I can ride to and from a hunt pretty quickly.”

“Jeralt could never master riding and shooting at the same time.” Byleth goes on, and Leonie nods, taking the bait almost willingly. “Outrange him. That’s one of the best advantages you can have on an enemy.” She gestures her head towards the students practicing lance jabs and footwork. “You should get on lancework, it’s the basis for all horse riding combat.” Leonie looks over and scrunches up her nose. “What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She sighs, and turns to Byleth with a grin. “Thanks for the recommendation professor. Just you wait, I’ll surpass whatever expectations you have.” She gathers her arrows from their targets and Byleth eyes the other two archers. She’s seen Claude at work before, and he’s incredible, if not ballsy. She waves for him to lower his bow, and he stuffs his arrows back in his quiver with a look of curiosity.

“What’s up, Teach?”

“I’ve seen you shoot before, I know you’re about to get a bullseye on most of those targets. Go get an axe, you said that was your second choice.” Byleth commands, moving past him to survey Ignatz. He chuckles, but doesn’t put his bow away.

“Teach, with all due respect, the bow is my strongest weapon.”

“And what, you want to impress me with your skill?” Byleth deadpans. “I’ve chosen you because I already believe in it. Now, rather than trying to butter me up with showing off your bow tricks, make up for shooting an arrow at my face last week and take on Hilda with an axe.” Claude stares incredulously, huffing out a laugh after a moment.

“In the first few weeks of training my class, Leonie has listened to your order to spar with Lorenz, you wrangled our egos to make an excellent team during the mock battle, and you see right through my subterfuge.” He levels Byleth with an interested and bemused expression. _Ah, that’s what Leonie’s expression was about. Yeah, can’t imagine those two would really get along._ “Looks like I’ll have to get used to you defying my expectations.”

“Good. Now, go defy mine and get Hilda to train.”

Claude winces. “Please don’t wish that upon me. I’ve only taken a real hit from Hilda once and the bruise didn’t fade until a week later.”

Byleth hums without empathy, prompting Claude to sigh without annoyance. He leaves, and Byleth thinks she’ll move on quickly, too. Ignatz’s fighting capabilities reflect what Hilda and Claude told her; his eyes are obviously trained for detail and precision, but his power and speed leave much to be desired. At his third bullseye on the closest target, Byleth’s eyes wander to the mages. The reason magic that Lysithea throws at her dummies is powerful enough for Byleth to feel the hairs stand on the back of her neck. The image of Sothis’ magic circles rewinding time springs to mind. _There’s no doubt Lysithea is powerful, but this sensing of magic could be part of Sothis’ awakening… Where in Ailell did she go anyway?_ That annoying little voice plaguing her mind has been quiet since this morning’s meeting with Seteth and Rhea. Byleth tries to summon Sothis’ image, but nothing comes up. She frowns, _Sothis is living in my head, she could stand to help more often than she does._

Byleth tells Ignatz to keep practicing and walks over to observe Lysithea and Marianne, the latter of which is now casting a basic healing spell on a vine climbing the pillars. A leaf sprouts where her magic touches, and Marianne gives a small smile of relief.

“That was really good, Marianne.” Byleth commends, surprising Marianne and commanding Lysithea’s attention.

“Professor! I just wanted to say, after seeing your combat firsthand at the mock battle, I have high hopes for my growth under your command. Your skill is undeniable, working under someone as impressive as Jeralt must have led you well.” She earnestly confesses, determination turning to fire in her eyes. Byleth simply nods under Lysithea’s gaze, and greets Marianne properly as well. She gives a weak hello in response, busying herself by fidgeting with her fingers and looking at her feet.

“You have a real talent for black magic, Lysithea” Byleth compliments, and Lysithea fidgets a little at her compliment. Only a few mages dared to learn black magic; it has a rather nasty tendency to maim even the most studious mages who attempt to harness its immense power. Seeing how deftly Lysithea handles it outside of the training grounds, she also has high hopes for Lysithea’s growth.

“What matters is I am fully capable of controlling it, thanks to my efforts.” Byleth stifles a snort. _She sounds just like Leonie…_ Byleth moves out of Lysithea’s way, extending her hand towards the dummies to indicate that she should continue. Lysithea takes in a deep breath and raises her arms, eyes flashing with thunder as she casts the Miasma spell once again. A symbol flashes briefly in front of her, a circular insignia with opening lines and smooth edges, and the Miasma spell rakes through the dummy with enough force to chip a sizable chunk off of its shoulder. Byleth stares, stunned, and the sign fades into wisps of dull light.

“Saints, what was that?” Byleth manages to stutter out after a moment, still staring at the damage on the dummy. She had inspected them earlier, clearly meant to last years of magical target practice, and Lysithea managed to take off almost an entire appendage in one shot.

“Oh, that was not anything.” Lysithea insists quickly, panting a little. “Just a particularly good shot.”

“U-um… Lysithea…” Marianne stutters, baggy eyes wide. “I did not know you had a crest.” Lysithea whirls around at Marianne, her childish face suddenly blown wide with anger.

“I’m a noble, aren’t I? It’s not that unheard of to have a crest!” She snaps, and Marianne cowers while letting out a weak “ _Sorry.”_

“Crest?” Byleth follows up, hoping a dedicated student like her would not argue. She does not; her eyes turn from sharp to compliant under Byleth’s stare. _There’s something that exists to give nobles this much power? Why don’t I know about it?_

“Crests, the supposed gifts given by the Goddess to the people of Fódlan more than a thousand years ago. They can grant any number of boons, like magical prowess, increased stamina, good luck; anything really.” Lysithea begins, unsure of how to go on. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them. They almost exclusively manifest in noble lineage, but it’s common knowledge nonetheless.” Byleth shrugs, blank face confessing nothing of her ignorance. Throughout Lysithea’s explanation, her and Marianne’s moods somber, and by the end Lysithea’s tone has quieted to a hush and Marianne clasps her hands together and touches her lips to her knuckles, eyes shadowed by her hair and dark circles seeming like they sink deeper. They both look… tired.

“For something the Goddess granted to your ancestors, neither of you seem pleased about them.” Byleth offers, and they both flinch at her words.

“If I have the time, maybe it will change.” Lysithea promises, voice coming back with more conviction.

Looking over at the nervous, quiet Marianne, Byleth feels a little worried for her. _How does she fit into a house with such strong personalities and deep convictions? Why does she flinch at the talk of crests?_

“Well, thank you both for the information.” Byleth says, drawing attention to a different subject. “I don’t plan to treat anyone differently, if that helps. Leonie does not seem to have a crest, and she looks to be just as capable as anyone else here.” Byleth looks towards Leonie, who seems to be deep in combat with Lorenz. He’s good; his balance is spot on, despite what their earlier encounter would suggest, but he just doesn’t seem to have as much muscle as a foot soldier should. “Besides,” Byleth adds, starting to walk towards the lances. “I don’t have a crest, I seem to be alright.”

“You’re right about Leonie, professor, that’s for sure.” Lysithea begins, shoulders squared and eyes intrigued. “But I think you should talk to Hanneman and see if he’ll test you for a crest.” Byleth stops in her tracks and blinks at Lysithea, unconvinced.

“Jeralt would have told me.” Would he have? _Yes, of course he would. Why would he keep that from me?_ Suddenly, Byleth’s mind is filled with moments when she has swung her sword into an enemy and feeling as if the life seeping out of them rejuvenated her. Moments like downing that first thief with the three Lords. _That’s adrenaline and relief, I killed someone who was after my throat. Anyone would feel that way._ She thinks of the symbol adorning Sothis’ robes and in the center of her magic circles, and how it’s wispy white trails look like Lysithea’s crest activating. _Stop that. Jeralt would tell me…_ Jeralt’s silent face when Byleth last asked about her mother ghosts over her thoughts, shadowing them with the hollow pang of uncertainty. His warning about never letting her guard down, was it because she would find out about a crest?

Lysithea shrugs, avoiding eye contact, but presses on. “I have a hunch.”

Byleth nods, walking over to Lorenz to wrench the lance out of his hand and command him to practice his magic. Throughout his gloating about some school of sorcery in the Kingdom that he attended but abandoned because “the image of a noble on horseback is just so much more fitting than a coward who slings spells from afar,” Byleth can’t expel the thought of crests from her mind. _If I do have one… why wouldn’t Jeralt tell me?_

Byleth ends the training assessment once Hilda’s complaints of swinging such a heavy axe around, which she does not seem to be struggling with at all, penetrate through her worries. She dismisses the students, deciding that she’s too tired and hungry to give crests any more thought. Hurrying to the dining hall for an early meal and an early bedtime, she does not notice Claude’s gaze following her, watchful and sharp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus, the beginning of discovering the mysteries Byleth's past begins with that little symbol Sothis bears. Hopefully those sharp eyes following her will be helpful...
> 
> Thank you for reading! And for the lovely comments, makes my day to see people enjoying my musings :,)


	6. An Esnier Crest?

The night was not restful. Byleth’s squishy bed and the silence from Sothis kept her up, coupling nicely with her worries about Jeralt’s secrets. She wakes with a terrible headache late into the morning.

After trying unsuccessfully to contact Sothis, Byleth shoves on her boots and fastens her sword to her belt, instinctively wrapping herself in her usual light armor; if the knights walk around in their full gear, so will she. She skips breakfast to head straight to the captain’s quarters where, to her relief, Jeralt is inside sorting through the large desk in the far corner and grumbling about the excess of literature left by the previous captain. She raps on the doorframe to get his attention, and Jeralt gestures for her to come in.

“Hey kid. I’ve been meaning to say, I’m a little surprised you chose the Golden Deer.” Jeralt starts, and Byleth quirks an eyebrow. He shrugs and continues, “The Blue Lions already seem like little knights themselves, thought you’d appreciate a better trained unit.”

“The Golden Deer need work, but I’m more attuned to working with a random collection of personalities than a unified rank of loyal knights.” Byleth explains, walking in and fiddling with the hilt of the heavily ornate sword held by the suit of armor decorating Jeralt’s office. “I take it that this place came fully furnished?” Opposite the ostentatious suit of armor sits Jeralt’s imposing desk; between them are two low couches around a spotless tea table, much too dainty for the massive Jeralt to enjoy something stronger with another, usually Byleth; yeah she loves tea, but a beer with her dad after a long day of work is quite satisfying.

  
“You should have seen the office when I first arrived, the walls were lined with tapestry of each major event in the faith of Seiros. Alois had to stop me from physically ripping them out of these damn walls.” Jeralt scoffs. Byleth gives a hum of agreement, having now moved on to trace the spines of the books. Most of them don’t seem to have much use, lots of legends of old heroic acts and other books detailing the merits of re-enacting their strategies. Jeralt has claimed the more useful strategy guides into his corner.

“Mind if I steal some of these?” Byleth asks, gesturing to said guides. Jeralt nods, and Byleth pulls a few out from the shelf. “There’s no lecture plan for the month and I have no idea how to teach not-even-adults the harsh reality of killing another human being.”

Byleth pauses over her books, considering her next words carefully. Jeralt is busying himself with sorting his journals into the drawers, perhaps this is a chance to take advantage of his distractedness.

“Have we ever encountered crests in our line of work?” Byleth asks, hoping to be nonchalant. Jerlat stills, and Byleth quickly fixes her stare on the books in front of her, refusing to look over.

“Why the question?” Jeralt asks cautiously, sounds of rustling paper slowly returning. Byleth bites the inside of her cheek. _So, he won’t answer._

“At least one of my students possess one, and it seems other students can make use of them.” Byleth explains, as neutrally as possible. “They’re quite powerful, I want to know if I’ve had experience with them and just didn’t realize. Or if you could teach me to recognize them.”

“Count Gloucester of the Leicester Alliance is probably the only noble I’ve worked with who’s got a son with a crest, though I don’t remember if he had one himself. It’s really only the big time nobles who have them, and even then I’m no good at recognizing them.” Jeralt answers, voice returning to his usual hardened command, guarding any lies. “But, you wouldn’t remember that. You were much too young to come with me on missions that time, I left you with that innkeeper in Gloucester territory nearby.”

“So, I’ve never really encountered one?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Byleth answers drily, though she doubts Jeralt notices. “Well, I’ll see what the library has, and maybe I’ll ask the crest scholar about them. His office is just down the hall, right?”

“Mhm. I’ve got meetings with the knights throughout the rest of the day, so I’ll have to see you later. See to it that none of your brats fall in battle, it’ll be harder to sleep at night. And good luck planning your lecture, I hope my distaste for traditional academic settings hasn’t set you too far back in your teaching role.” He grins, ruffling Byleth’s hair. She recognizes his nervous habit, like he knows that he has upset her but can’t understand because of her blankness. It’s to show her he still loves her, and Byleth appreciates it, but this time, she just wants real answers.

“Lucky for me, it seems we’re different.” Byleth answers, nodding at him as a goodbye as he chuckles a little sadly.

“One can only hope, kid. One can only hope.”

______________________________

  
Byleth finds herself locked away in her room for most of the remaining hours of the day, forcing herself to plan lessons and eat only as much as physically required. Discovering Jeralt had lied to her makes anything near impossible to focus on. When she held her arm over Hanneman’s crest detecting device after speaking with Jeralt, a segment of the criss-cross pattern of Sothis’ symbol flashed over the instrument’s glassy surface. Hanneman had been elated, rambling about Byleth’s mysterious crest, too powerful to fully appear on his device, but she felt sick. Jeralt has his secrets, but he does not lie. Especially not to her, his only kin left in a world that seems to have taken all other family from him.

She excused herself hastily and rushed to the library, desperate to find any record of her crest, only to find that the crests section of the library was shockingly limited and incredibly basic. Defiantly, Byleth had spent all afternoon poring over them in her room, but there was little information. Many theories on trying to explain why major crests, housing the most power, are dying out, being replaced by less powerful minor crests. Crest scholars like the Monastery’s Hanneman hypothesize this is simply because as generations go on, the link between the crest and the bloodline that received the Goddess' gift weakens. But, nothing is for sure, and there’s very little substantial information on their origin. Only legends on their namesakes, all inextricable from doctrines of the Church of Seiros.

One volume explained that each crest had a name associated with a figure from the scriptures; four from the saints said to serve the divine Lady Seiros, the founder of the Church well over a thousand years ago, and those named after the Ten Elites who served in the War of Heroes, also over a thousand year ago, alongside a man called Nemesis. Those Ten Elites are the very distant ancestors of the major noble families around Fódlan, which explains why the nobility are privy to the crest’s powers. One is even associated with Saint Seiros, passed down the Imperial family line.

A record of crest holders was detailed in one of the tomes; many names listed were current students. Almost every noble enrolled bears a crest of some sort, but Felix seems to be the only student on record with a major one, like Byleth. Byleth pored over every page, hoping to find the Eisner crest. Blaiddyd and Reigan were there, and both Dimitri and Claude’s names showed up under the records. Claude’s name was underlined and a question mark was written next to it.

And yet… she found nothing. No mention of an Eisner crest, no image of the flame-like symbol. All she found was a section of a tome had been cleanly removed.

Byleth’s head felt like it was splitting trying to understand it all; her extremely rare crest with an unknown power, Jeralt lying to her, Claude’s mention in the records, the vague familiarity that the name “Nemesis” instilled. After ruminating on her new discoveries for an unknown amount of time, Byleth decides to finalize her lesson plan. Perhaps getting lost in battle strategies and learning new weapon techniques would distract her. And it did, for a while. Until…

 _“Oh, goodness, seems I was gone for quite longer than I had planned,”_ Sothis yawns from the back of Byleth’s head, purging the thin film of focus protecting Byleth from facing her crest worries.

“Where in Ailell did you go?” Byleth barks, almost showing irritation.

 _“Nowhere, genius, I can’t leave.”_ Sothis shoots back. Byleth flicks her quill away in frustration and crosses her arms over her chest. _“Before you get all huffy with me, know that I may have an answer to your worries. The crest scholar and the student, they mentioned crests are passed through bloodlines, correct?”_ Byleth nods. _“Then would it not be possible for your crest to simply have resurfaced after years of being dormant? Jeralt may not have lied to you then, he may just have not known.”_

“Okay,” Byleth considers, only slightly comforted by the possibility. “But… why does my crest seem to match yours?”

 _“That… would require me to know how I’m connected to you.”_ Sothis confesses, as unsatisfied as Byleth. _“Sadly, I still know nothing.”_

“You could be a ghost of one of my ancestors. That would explain why I have the same crest as you.” Byleth offers, immediately regretting her words as Sothis forcibly calls Byleth into the throne room. Sothis looks a bit ridiculous, throwing her childish tantrum atop her throne.

 _“Could a measly ghost offer you a chance to rewind time? I think not.”_ She huffs. _“Besides, we only saw part of your crest. You could possess a similar one to mine, but not one and the same.”_ Before Byleth can tell her how unlikely her theory is, Sothis cuts in, saying, _“You yourself said that the library’s records are both incomplete and reduced. Who’s to say there’s not another explanation for this, like crests that can merge together or newer crests granted after the creation of the Church? We cannot rule out any possibilities, not while we know so little.”_

Byleth nods begrudgingly after a moment. “You’re right, I don’t think we’ll find anything concrete looking only in the library. Hanneman said he’d try and find out what my crest is; he might be our only hope.”

 _“Well, we do know one mischievous student who may be useful in this search. Someone who very clearly cares about chasing the truth, if his constant watchfulness means anything.”_ Sothis suggests, grinning. _“You may have accidentally chosen the best house leader.”_

“Claude.” Byleth agrees, but hesitates to make any plans to rely on him. “I don’t think he trusts me, and I still don’t know if his cautiousness comes from wanting the truth or wanting to protect himself. And his record in the registry of crests seems tenuous. Remember when Edelgard doubted Claude’s claim to the Riegan bloodline?” Sothis nods, so Byleth continues. “If crests are proof of ancestry, then his crest must still be under some sort of investigation, along with his pretty significant lineage. I don’t know if he’d be willing to help with subterfuge on a subject he’s already attracted heat on.”

 _“I suppose”_ Sothis concedes. _“But, again, let us not rule out our options.”_ Byleth hums in affirmation, but crosses her arms to dig her fingers into her forearm. _“… what?”_

“Why did Jeralt lie?” Her voice is quiet, small. Hurt. She’s taken aback by how easily those emotions fall out of her, but it doesn’t bring her any comfort. When he froze up before answering her question, was that not an admission of guilt?

“ _Remember, he may not have lied. Be comforted by this.”_ Sothis reassures, voice soft for once. She’s not sitting on her throne, instead perched at the top of her stairs, as close to Byleth as she can get. _“Not many things are certain for you, this much I have learned. But Jeralt’s undying love and trust for you is as certain as the seedlings growing into great trees, as they do every year. Whatever your father has decided to tell you, or not, you must believe is done out of love.”_

“That doesn’t make it right.” Byleth argues, quietly.

 _“No, it does not.”_ Sothis sighs, turning away from Byleth’s resolve to be upset. _“But Jeralt is the one thing you cannot let go of in this life. Do not let your exasperation overshadow the truth; that both love for you and past trauma exists within him. You must let him experience both.”_

Byleth sits down in the black of the throne room, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on her arms, suddenly immeasurably tired. The floating green orbs swimming around Sothis’ throne descend upon her, quietly. Their soft light gently convinces Byleth to close her eyes as Sothis’ voice echoes around her.

_______________________________

Three weeks go by in a blur. Every member of the Golden Deer house, Byleth included, passed their beginner’s certification exams, earning them higher ranks within the monastery. Embarrassingly, Byleth only found out about the certification existence when Lysithea asked about them during class, making Lorenz almost leave the lecture at the indignation of a professor who “does not know the very basics of the combat-based hierarchy essential to knighthood.” He reconsidered Byleth’s teaching merits when she administered the tests the following week and every single student passed, even Hilda.

She had a run in with Lysithea one evening; the girl screamed at Byleth’s sudden appearance when they crossed paths walking to the dining hall after dinner. After stammering about how she’s definitely not scared of ghosts and only reacted so strongly because Byleth was skulking around (she wasn’t), she shakily asked Byleth to accompany her as she searched for a lost tome. Byleth thought it was fine for Lysithea to act her age, but she perceives her age gap from her classmates as a venue for others to look down on her and disregard all her hard work to make it so far at only fifteen. Byleth noted her insecurity for later as Lysithea scurried off once her possession was safely back in her hands.

To her relief, Leonie had actually confronted her not long after she passed her exam. She would keep training throughout Byleth’s workouts, even though she had already been practicing riding and archery for at least half an hour before Byleth’s arrival, and then brag about lasting longer than Byleth. Other than being really annoying for Byleth to ignore, it was also hurting Leonie’s ability to stay awake during class. One afternoon after a particularly brutal workout, Leonie asked if Byleth was truly Jeralt’s daughter. Forever misreading the situation, Byleth had responded with _“That’s what I’m told,”_ trying to play the realist card, because, well, Byleth looks nothing like her father and has very little memories of her childhood. It didn’t work. Leonie rambled about speaking too detachedly about Jeralt and being ungrateful for his teachings, ending her tirade with a proclamation to surpass Byleth skills and storming off. The hopeful friendship Byleth holds on to slips ever further from her reach.

Other than those two awkward meetings, most of her time was spent planning lectures and secretly researching her crest, which meant a lot of late nights at the library. She didn’t mind; it’s the best place to go to avoid Jeralt, and a large part of her research is dedicated to sorting out how to confront him. All her time there means she’s gotten used to her student’s routines, the most curious being Claude, as always. Most students leave when it gets too late, especially Lysithea, but Claude seems to specifically come out at night. Byleth tries to sequester herself into a corner to keep her research private, and she expected Claude would try to pick her brain like he usually does. To her surprise, he waves at her with his fake smile, and sits in the complete opposite corner, guarding his papers and books as Byleth does, leaving even after Byleth. She decides to leave him to his secrets, seeing as how could just as easily poke his nose into her business. She can’t help being curious though.

A knock at the Golden Deer classroom archway breaks Byleth out of her daydreaming. The students perk up too; seems Byleth’s group exercise on terrain types was not a big hit, maybe she should have led them into the forest for something more hands on.

“Pardon me, but I am to inform your class that the whereabouts of the thieves have been pinpointed.” The knight at the door proclaims. “You are to leave tomorrow morning for Zanado, the Red Canyon. Seteth recommends making preparations for the march tonight.” Byleth squints out the door behind him, where the late afternoon sun hangs bright and low. She nods at the knight to dismiss them, and the Golden Deer chatter apprehensively.

“Okay.” Byleth begins, and the talking ceases. “Zanado is barely two hours from the Monastery, be sure to ready yourself for that march. Carrying weapons and armor on foot is incredibly unpleasant, get used to it.” Groans all around, but especially from Hilda. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon to prepare. You are responsible for your own weapons and vulneraries, but yes, Raphael, I will make sure to have extra if you forget.” He puts his worried hand down with a grin and walks off excitedly with the rest of his class. Byleth is gathering her things at her desk, she has to prepare too after all, when Claude taps expectantly on the empty desk space in front of her. She looks up, and he has a more serious lilt to his usual smile.

“Heya Teach. Excited for the first march with your students?” He begins, causal tone indicating a build up to one of his ambiguous statements. Byleth shrugs, and Claude hums in agreement. “Yeah, they seem a bit too enthusiastic, don’t they? I mean, we are going to take away lives.”

“I don’t think bandits deserve to have a life in many people’s eyes.” Byleth responds. Claude raises an eyebrow, and Byleth shrugs again. “Ending someone’s breath is something mercenaries have to make peace with, one way or another. If you try to convince yourself that they deserve death then you’ll eventually accept some heinous job without realizing it.” As the resident unfeeling husk of the band, Byleth got into the business of killing easily. It wasn’t until Jeralt sat her down and explained the difference between routing poachers and poverty-stricken thieves that somewhere in Byleth’s mind she formed this truth.

Claude leans back in thought. “Huh. I didn’t expect the Ashen Demon to have empathy for her victims.” Byleth tenses at the nickname, but Claude goes on, quieter. “You’re right though. I don’t think the other Deer know that. It’s going to be hard to watch their faces when they land their first kill. Or…” and he pauses, almost unwillingly. “Their delight in taking out the other.” He says “the other” with a capital “O”, a resigned bitterness coloring his words with hidden meaning. Like the other he refers to stands in for something Byleth doesn’t get.

He sighs and plasters his smile back on, winking for good measure. “Anyway, I should get ready as well. Wouldn’t want your star pupil to die on his first expedition, eh?” Claude’s voice is as even as ever as he bids Byleth farewell, leaving her frustrated at her own inability to read his words.

 _“So, we are taking children into battle are we? I am not certain I will be able to sleep soundly after beholding something like that…”_ Sothis grumbles, speaking to Byleth’s worries for her.

“You may not believe me, but I’m anxious too.” Byleth mumbles, but Sothis nods knowingly.

 _“I… I feel something in me stirring, though I’m afraid I cannot say what. However-”_ and Byleth feels Sothis’ luminous green eyes boring into her soul. _“I feel I may be able to help. I will rest, for now. I can only hope I wake up in time for the battle ahead.”_

Byleth feels something in her too, like something nestled into her heart starting to animate. She decides it’s the anticipation of the march, and leaves the classroom with Sothis’ even breathing pulsing through her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm the mystery has revealed itself! What does Jeralt know? And what's up with question mark next to Claude's supposed crest? Wonder if everyone will make it through their first real battle...
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Sothis' Divine Pulse

The Golden Deer enter the Red Canyon with relative ease, Byleth’s fears allayed by the battalions of Monastery knights that accompany her students (quite a good opportunity to improve their leadership as well). Lysithea and Leonie lead the charge with Byleth, the two students eager to put their skills to the test. Lorenz and Claude bicker most of the way over, only ever ceasing when Hilda manages to get them to play nice for a spell. Byleth is about to physically separate them to the front and back of the march when Lorenz points out that they’ve arrived. The maw of Zanado opens in front of Byleth, and she signals for the group to follow her down. The smoke of the bandit camp that was previously visible has been snuffed out, and Byleth would rather get into an offensive lineup quickly than get caught by their scouts. As she’s surveying their options, Claude strides up next to her with a plan to gather at a set of stairs bridging over a gap in the land not far ahead.

“I hear there's a back road to the west of the bridge. How about we split up and attack from there as well as the front? We may be able to corner the enemy by approaching from both sides.” He recommends, and with a once-over Byleth can tell it’s the best plan. She nods at him, and he turns around to inform the group. As he’s speaking, Byleth lets her mind wander to the throne room, but Sothis is still shutting her out in her sleep. _She had better wake up soon, I give us fifteen minutes before the bandits charge._

“…In any case, we need to cross the bridge first. I'll leave the details to you, Teach.” Claude finishes, gesturing to her in hopes of convincing Lorenz’s obviously defiant demeanor to cooperate. As soon as she’s involved, Lorenz’s expression turns to dutiful, and Byleth feels both grateful and concerned for Claude’s ability to use her to get their ends met.

The short walk to the bridge lets Byleth settle comfortably back into her mercenary mode. The gauntlets tied to her belt knock on her hip in tune with her footsteps, each thump rhythmically sending her deeper into her battle focus as she marches to the battlefield. This would be her first moment of familiarity in a month, though the silence in front of her where Jeralt usually leads unnerves her. His last few words to her ring more strongly now that she’s on the cusp of battle; _“See to it that none of your brats fall in battle, it’ll be harder to sleep at night.”_

  
She has her worries shattered from her mind when Leonie suddenly draws her bow from the front of the pack and yells a warning to everyone else behind her. Kostas’ voice responds, and suddenly Byleth remembers the stakes of this mission.

Her hand flies for her sword just as Leonie lands an arrow into the bandit’s shoulder, and Lyisthea manages to finish him off as Byleth blazes past him to the front lines. Two more bandits charge over the bridge, and Byleth barely sees Kostas’ shadow before he dips out of her sight over the raised land. She orders Lorenz to send a fireball spell ahead so she can charge him, and Ignatz sends a weak arrow ahead for Raphael to follow up on the other bandit. Before she can descend on the bandit, she sees Lysithea’s face, and Byleth is reminded of the mage’s youth.

Her already pale face now matches her white hair, and her wide eyes an even more sickly purple. She is transfixed on the magic-infused corpse in front of her, still flickering with the effects of her miasma spell, and her lips move over whispered vows to not let his life go to waste. That was Byleth’s focus for the few weeks leading up to the mission; do not dishonor their deaths with your incompetence, make their sacrifice to your cause worth it. Seems she was right to nail that message home with Lysithea.

But, in Byleth’s choice to watch over Lysithea, the bandit she abandoned screams past her, and plunges his sword into Lysithea’s chest before Byleth can process the stain of blood on his steel.

Lysithea’s body falls to the ground with the same look of horror and reverence as were her last moments, her tiny body barely making a sound as the dirt catches her. All things considered, a swift death is merciful in battle, and Byleth would generally be grateful to see a relatively peaceful end to a warrior. Byleth sees no mercy as an emptiness takes over her heart where shock, anger, sadness should be.

Then, it happens again. The world freezes and shatters into a void where colors are inverted, and Sothis’ voice rings out.

 _“I-I did it. Again.”_ She gasps, voice falling all over emotional beats Byleth wishes she has staring at the corpse of her student. Lysithea’s blood is a piercing, sickly blue through the broken glass of reality Byleth peers through. _“It seems… it seems I can…”_ and Byleth understands before Sothis even says the words. _“I can stop and reverse time at will, as I saved your life before.”_

“Go back.” Byleth whispers, though her mouth does not move. “I can stop him this time. I can keep her safe.” And then realization dawns on her. “I can keep them all safe.” Sothis’ eyes are luminous, consuming, as she turns them on Byleth. All of a sudden, Sothis is all she can see, radiant as she has never been before, powerful enough to make Byleth tremble.

 _“I see. Consider this,”_ She almost chants, and Lysithea’s corpse lifts to its feet, rising as mechanical and soulless as she fell. _“A creed of sorts.”_ The life returns to her eyes as the sword leaves her body, seemingly sucking her blood into the blade as it knits together the hollow cavity in her chest. _“I shall allow you to turn back the hands of time, but know this power is not infinite.”_ The bandit runs backwards as Byleth feels her own body turning towards her original position shouting orders. The scene stops as Lorenz’s fire spell explodes on the bandit, and Byleth’s cold, unfeeling eyes settle over Lysithea’s assailant. _“Now go. Save the little ones.”_

And with that promise, the smell of battle descending on her shocks her into movement, planting her sword into the bandit’s chest before sound can return to her ears. She spares a look at Lysithea, seeing double as the ghost of her body lays motionless on the ground and the real, current Lysithea pants out in an undeniable sign of life. The girl is not focused on Byleth’s bewilderment, rather her surprised eyes turn to fear as she stares at the bandit’s blade clattering to the ground, picturing the possibility Byleth just reversed. Those same terrified eyes flick up to Byleth, and she doesn’t know how to respond to the gratitude and determination vehemently replacing Lysithea’s twisted expression.

“Professor… I… Thank you.” She stutters. Byleth barely nods in her direction, scanning her students and bracing herself for another Divine Pulse from Sothis. Everyone is still up however, eyes clear and sharp as they turn to her for their next instruction. Even Claude’s green eyes rest solely on Byleth.

“It will happen many times, Lysithea.” She monotones; as a professor and a mercenary, Byleth’s experience and responsibility rests all of their lives squarely on her shoulders. It is barely worth repeating to Lysithea, who knows this. “None of you will fall.”

She doesn’t mean for the last statement to slip out, it is mostly a comfort to herself and a promise to Sothis, but it seems to uncurl an anxiety wrapped around her students’ shoulders. It fastens something around Byleth too, like a stone weighing her heart down. Responsibility, yes, but she accepted that responsibility the second she agreed to become a professor. She feels light as air with the power to change fate, and pierced by the divine responsibility she now bears.

Hilda whines anxiously as the second wave of enemies approach them, and Byleth’s orders guide them over the bridge, past the cliff, down another set of ruined stairs, and squarely in front of Kostas’ hideout among ancient pillars. The fear and desperation carved through his beady eyes almost evokes pity from Byleth, but her opponent’s face contorts into hatred at recognizing Claude trailing Byleth with his bow.

“You! Spoiled little noble!” He growls. “Just die like a good little rich kid!” But before he can complete his obvious attempt at a charge, the same one Byleth saved Edelgard from, Claude’s arrow zips past Byleth and staggers Kostas back.

“Being noble has nothing to do with who you are as a person or how hard your life is. Your logic is illogical!” Claude taunts, giving Byleth the opening she needs to cut Kostas down as he chokes on his retort. Byleth cannot hear his last words as he dies staring into her unfeeling eyes.

The Golden Deer let out a sigh of relief and cheer of victory as the remaining bandits scatter. Byleth tells Marianne to make the healing rounds to those with more than just scrapes and cuts and for the rest to apply vulneraries as needed. She is distracted, though, as she takes in the blood from Kostas and the bandits staining the ruins and scenery. It sullies the holiness of the canyon. _I remember this place being peaceful…_ she frowns.

 _“That’s odd. As far as I can tell , this is your first time in this place, is it not?”_ Sothis ponders, and Byleth’s brow furrows as she realizes it’s true. _“Why do you think of this place as peaceful?”_

“I… it feels familiar, somehow.” Byleth responds, surveying the canyon for further inspiration. But the stones don’t give her any answers. “Have you been here before?”

 _“Here? I daresay it would be impossible to have forgotten such a place. Though, I must admit, I am unsure.”_ Sothis sighs, green flittering lights settling around her pensive expression. _“And yet… a great depth of emotion is tied to that sense of familiarity. Like joy and sorrow. Pain and love. And all things in between… If I was somehow here before, I wonder what took place…”_ She shakes her head as if to banish her thoughts; diadem and boundless green hair rustling with her frustration. _“Anyway, you have my gratitude for disposing of the bandits.”_

“Gratitude?” Byleth wonders. “Why are we grateful for a place we have never been?”

 _“For now I have no knowledge, but know that time reveals all things. One day, I will remember that which I lost.”_ Sothis resigns, cryptic as ever.

“Hey, Teach? Hello? We should get ready to march back.” Claude’s voice cuts through Byleth’s conversation with Sothis, and the latter spins into obscurity in the back of Byleth’s thoughts. She blinks to attention at Claude’s suddenly very interested gaze. “It’s bad form for the commander to be transfixed on something other than the mission while on a campaign. Something on your mind?”

Byleth considers lying. It would be easy to brush him off and leave her mysterious musings between the two in her mind; she’s fairly certain most other folks don’t have to share the space in their skull with a time-rewinding being.

However, she knows the easiest way to gain someone’s trust is to show them some in return.

“Actually,” She begins, and Claude’s expression turns from impish curiosity to grateful interest. “I get the feeling I’ve been here before, but I have no memory of this place.”

“Can’t say it’s familiar to me, it’s not like there’s much reason to come down here. Other than hiding from the church, apparently, and I haven’t had to do that, yet.” Claude responds nonchalantly, though nothing he does is indifferent. Byleth contentedly anticipates whatever pointed comment he has in store. “Maybe it’s a memory from your childhood, or a past life.” Byleth knows he’s just offering random advice, but that past life comment hits pretty close to home. “Anyway, if you can’t remember, it could just be a weird case of déjà vu.

“Although, I'll admit, there is something about the canyon that has me captivated as well.” He ponders. _Ah, here comes the shockingly precise commentary._ “How did Zanado come to be called the Red Canyon? Nothing here…” he gestures around them, to the brown dirt and gray stones making up the cliffs. “Is actually red.”

______________________________

“So, you have safely disposed of those bandits. I pray that their souls find salvation.” Rhea summarizes, bowing her head in a short prayer. Byleth’s eyes catch the delicate ornaments of her halo spinning in the light of the stained glass. “We must further investigate the true cause of why they targeted the students in the first place. Until we know more, I ask that you support the students and relieve them of any unnecessary worry.”

“Of course, I will do all that I can.” Byleth manages to speak to Rhea without stuttering for the first time, and is rewarded with Rhea’s smile.

“Good. I have high expectations for you.” Rhea shares, and Byleth feels faint. Without changing her tone, Rhea continues. “By the way, how was your time in Zanado? Legend has it, in ancient times, a goddess alighted upon this world in that very canyon. For a goddess from heavens, Zanado could only have been a temporary haven.” Seteth’s eyes narrow slightly at Rhea’s words, but Byleth cannot figure out for what reason.

“A temporary haven?” Byleth asks, hoping her blank expression hides her ignorance of the faith of Seiros. Rhea nods simply, no judgement or change in emotion in her face.

“Yes. Long ago, the divine Seiros received a revelation from the goddess. A gift, to help the lost.” Rhea’s eyes go starry. Byleth does not remember any encounters with the faithful, much like most things lost to her memory, but she feels as though she would have remembered if any of them looked as reverent as Rhea does. “The goddess is always watching over Fódlan from her kingdom above. However, in ancient times, the goddess graced this world with her presence and offered salvation to the people here. She is the mother of all life, the arbiter of every soul.”

Byleth does not know what to answer. _Am I supposed to feel some sort of inherent want to pray to her? Why does everyone feel so strongly about this Goddess? Why can’t I?_ She takes too long in her pondering, and Rhea takes her silence as ignorance. She frowns, and Byleth feels that pit open in her stomach where her urge to cry should be.

“During your time here, I pray that you come to devote yourself to the teachings of Seiros.” She offers. _Not as a comfort, Byleth notes,_ nauseatingly. It sounded more like… a promise.

“Brother?” A tiny, formal voice squeaks from the doors behind them. Seteth’s face turns into concern and love at once, smoothing out the scowl for the first time since Byleth has met him. She turns towards the voice to see a little girl, much too young for the regal tone that Byleth just heard. She too has dark green hair and eyes, with ornate clasps around her curly hair and a large ribbon around her waist. Her eyes turn to Byleth, and she lets out an involuntary, innocent gasp. “Oh! I am so sincerely sorry! I did not mean to interrupt.”

“I am in the middle of something important, Flayn.” He warns, but the intensity of his voice has turned to butter. “Is it urgent?”

“No, no! It is nothing.” Flayn assures, daring another look at Byleth. “More importantly, who is this?”

“This is our newest professor at the academy. Please, come make yourself acquainted.” Rhea offers, stifling Seteth’s attempts to usher Byleth and Flayn away from each other. Flayn genuinely runs up to Byleth, too excited for just a simple introduction.

“Oh my! I am so very pleased to meet you, Professor. I am Seteth’s little sister, Flayn. I am so happy to make your acquaintance!” She gushes, frilly dress bouncing with her hand as she eagerly shakes Byleth’s. Byleth nods without smiling back, but it does not deter the brightness in Flayn’s expression. Glancing at Seteth’s dour face, Byleth somehow doubts the lines caused by Seteth’s frown are the same ones that frame the smile on Flayn’s cheeks.

“Well, I am afraid the professor has work to do, Flayn.” Seteth reminds both of them, and gestures with his eyes for Byleth to leave. Flayn looks downhearted as Byleth walks out, leaving her to wonder how sheltered she must be for Byleth to have gone a whole month without so much as hearing about her.

 _“A goddess… Why do we have no memory of her? But then… I have no memory at all!”_ Sothis rings out in Byleth’s thoughts, making Byleth jump in surprise at the volume. _“Oh, how bothersome! It is as though I know… and yet I don't. Perhaps Zanado was my home back when the goddess walked the land. If so… What does that make me now? A ghost? Of course, we also have the mystery of why I'm here with you. Is it somehow connected? Perhaps some past regret is stopping me from moving on, and now I'm forced to stay with you instead… No, that's not it! I can't believe in such a meaningless existence! I… I…”_

The vehemence of Sothis’ anxieties cloud Byleth’s vision, and she has to stumble her way back to her room, hoping no one sees her struggling under the weight of another being’s crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of times I had to go back and save Lysithea in my first playthrough inspired this chapter. Lysithea I love you girl but you are so squishy.
> 
> Imagine having the knowledge that you have the ability to make sure everyone lives, imagine the responsibility. And Byleth can barely feel emotion right now, that has to be a heavy weight on her. Seems she's going to bear it alone too...
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. What Happened Four Years Ago

_Garland moon._

_When the warm winds blow from the sea to the south of Adrestia, residents of Fodlan know that the rainy season is upon them. Before the heavy rains take their toll, young women hurry to pick the last of the white roses. The ivory buds are woven into garlands and given as gifts to close friends or potential lovers._

Dimitri’s grim expression greets Byleth and Claude as they return to the audience chamber the day after their success at Zanado. Claude casts a worried glance in his direction, but the prince gives him a weak smile in return. Byleth instead settles her gaze on the blonde woman standing beside Rhea, jagged sword at her side. Byleth can see a strange stone in the hilt, and the blade looks like it has thorns forking out towards the tip. It does not take long for Claude’s eyes to go from Dimitri to the sword, and Byleth sees his effort to keep his mouth from hanging open in shock. _It is a rather strange sword,_ Byleth wonders. _Maybe he’s marveling at how in the world this woman got a rank high enough to stand near Rhea with that ineffective of a blade._

Seteth begins the meeting this time, not Rhea. Byleth briefly looks for Flayn, but it seems she has disappeared again. “We have received reports that Lord Lonato has rallied troops against the Holy Church of Seiros.” His voice is terse, and Byleth feels the bitterness she has felt from him is nothing compared to the vitriol staining his tone now. Dimitri looks positively miserable.

“Who is Lord Lanato?” Byleth ventures.

“He is a minor lord of the Kingdom.” Dimitri answers, not looking up. _Ah. He must be ashamed that one of his own is rebelling against the “Holy” namesake of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus._

“He has been showing hostility towards the church for some time now.” Seteth adds, almost in accusation to Dimitri. “A vanguard unit from the Knights of Seiros is already on its way to his stronghold in the southwest of the Kingdom, at Castle Gaspard. Lord Lonato's army is nothing compared to the knights. It's quite possible the rebellion has already been suppressed.”

“Even so,” Rhea concedes in a much kinder tone, stepping past Seteth. “I would like for your class to travel with the knights' rear guard to deal with the aftermath. War zones are unpredictable; we do not expect you will have cause to battle, but in order to prepare you for the worst I have asked Catherine to lead the knights.” The blonde woman nods at them from behind Rhea. _Our safety is entrusted to spiky-blade over there?_ Byleth almost scoffs, but Rhea goes on, as if reading Byleth’s thoughts. “She is one of our bravest knights, and that is no small feat. Only an exceptional few have what it takes to join the Knights of Seiros.”

Catherine steps forward and offers her hand to Byleth. Her grip is firm, a little threatening, and her deep blue eyes bore into Byleth’s, searching. “It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard much. If you need anything, just ask.” Catherine commands, official tone befitting every other church authority Byleth has met.

Rhea rises back to her position standing in front of Byleth and her students. Suddenly, her milky green eyes cease being comforting. They pool with control and power, and the empathy behind them turns suffocating. Byleth can feel Sothis reeling.

“This mission should prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to ever turn their blades on the church…” Rhea announces, and Byleth can feel the chill of her words course through her, deadly as an avalanche.

And then, just like that, the moment is over as if it never happened. The sun returns to Rhea’s eyes, and no one makes any indication that Rhea’s threat ever existed. Or that she even stated anything remotely threatening. But Claude’s mask slips, if only for a moment, and Byleth sees the fear in his eyes quickly replaced by calculations. Dimitri barely blinks.

Seteth ushers them out, and as soon as the three leave the audience chamber Claude lays a comforting hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. The prince smiles gratefully at Claude, sighing deeply.

“I am… concerned for the lands under Lanato’s rule. Doubtless, there are times when one must take up their blade, even if there's no chance of winning. But this…” His eyes turn downwards, searching for understanding. “It’s downright senseless. Lord Lonato knows better.”

“It does make me wonder what he hopes to achieve…” Claude adds, still rubbing Dimitri’s shoulder. “He must know there is no way for him to win against the Church, not with his current manpower anyway. Seteth didn’t mention it, but it’s highly likely he’s rallied the people that live on his land to fight with him. Carrying commoners against people like Catherine isn’t going to preserve any of their lives.”

Dimitri grits his teeth. “Damn it all! How frustrating that I am too young to take the throne. Rendered powerless by age… If the throne is vacant much longer, the Kingdom will fall to ruin!”  
Claude starts to say something, but Dimitri cuts him off. “After Faerghus lost its king, there were many rebellions. It is likely Lord Lonato's provocations are related.” He looks immeasurably pained. “My kingdom needs a leader.”

As Byleth glances down the hall at her father’s door, Dimitri’s statement clicks. _The king is dead? If Dimitri is the prince, wouldn’t that mean that his father is-_

“And in time, you will claim the throne, your princeliness, and provide your people with the help they need to keep rebellions from even happening.” Claude soothes, moving his hand to tug on Dimitri’s bangs playfully. Dimitri bats his hands away, but his expression smooths into something a little softer. Byleth feels like she’s watching something private unfold, and awkwardly turns to walk away. “Maybe if the kingdom can set you up with a sweet Hero’s Relic like Catherine's, that would speed things up.”

Dimitri crinkles his nose at Claude in annoyance and Byleth tries hard not to let either of them know she has no clue what they’re talking about. “Yet another thing that is barred from me until I ascend, I’m afraid.” Dimitri sighs, and Claude clicks his tongue in disappointment.

Judging by the fact that Claude has yet to turn his unwavering gaze at her, Byleth can safely assume Heroes Relics are less common knowledge than crests. “What’s a Heroes Relic?” She asks, and to her relief Dimitri jumps to explain before Claude can assume anything of her.

“Ah, I suppose roving around with a mercenary group all these years would deny you consistent contact with one noble house.” Dimitri offers, providing a forgiving contrast where Claude would have jumped down her throat trying to figure out why she doesn’t know. “The Goddess granted divine weapons to the ten elites who fought in the War of Heroes, or so the legend goes. Those weapons were passed along to their descendants, so a few prominent noble families house them. After all, only those with crests can wield them.” The image of a massive sword passes Byleth’s mind, but it slips from her grasp before she can focus on it.

“I’ve heard tales of an ancient Relic that once cut a mountain in half with a single swing.” Claude adds nonchalantly, but the glitter in his eyes is undeniable. “That's what they say, anyway.” Byleth nearly smiles at the emotions obvious on Claude’s face, for once. He looks like a kid dreaming about a shiny new toy in the shop window. “All I’m saying is, I’d love to destroy a mountain one day.”

“While the Blaiddyd family Relic doesn’t match that legendary description, it symbolizes great power to the Faerghus royal family.” Dimitri explains, eyes regaining their faraway look. “I feel… if I were to wield that weapon…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Pardon me, I must brief my class about the rebellion. One of our own is Lanato’s son, he will be heartbroken.”

Claude looks wistfully at Dimitri’s back as he shuffles down the stairs. Byleth doesn’t understand his gaze, but she does understand why he seems pained at Dimitri’s sunken eyes. The prince’s charm and gentle kindness is too valuable for an outsider like herself to feel nothing when creases of worry mar his handsome smile. Bearing a kingdom at his age is impossible, and yet the weight of the crown seems to make his broad shoulders sag anyway.

“I suppose it’ll take longer for the Kingdom to recover from the Tragedy.” Claude murmurs, furrowing his brow. “I was hoping to make better allies with the Kingdom and Empire at the Academy…” He folds his hands behind his head, a habit Byleth has noted as his signature move for playing down the intensity of whatever he’s thinking with a feigned casualness. “Ah well, nothing for it. Guess I’ll have to force those relations with my unbelievable charm.”

Byleth rolls her eyes at him and Claude smiles. “Hey! I think that’s the first time I’ve gotten a physical reaction from you, Teach!” He points out, very pleased with himself. One hand comes forward to rub his chin in mock thought, an annoying grin plastered on his face. “Seems that charm may be more potent than I thought… perhaps I should be more conservative in my strategies, as to not overwhelm regular folk with it.”

“I will choose to ignore the fact that you just called me abnormal.” Byleth deadpans, but Claude just laughs at her. “I can count on you to inform the rest of the class? I’ll be back for homeroom, there’s a staff meeting about organizing the march.” Claude gives her an “okay” sign with his hands and heads off, calculating eyes glittering with all the information garnered from his little meeting with Catherine.

Despite herself, Byleth is pleased as well. The knowledge of Heroes Relics is exciting, but Rhea’s commands are becoming increasingly threatening, and those pale eyes frequently turn to power at the thought of “encouraging” the students to stay with the church. But, according to Dimitri, it seems Lanoto’s rebellion is doing more harm than good to the commoners, and Byleth can raise her sword against a noble who doesn’t serve his own people. She’ll have to hope that Jeralt can figure out Rhea’s true intentions before her power trip traps Byleth in.

Byleth thinks of going to Jeralt to tell him about her rare instance of emotion, and possibly mending her feelings of betrayal that still linger from the last moon, but Dimitri runs through her mind when she lays her eyes on her father’s door.

Instead, she studies the bulletin board by the stairs, looking for the next Blue Lions training session.

______________________

After a particularly exhausting week, Byleth was looking forward to attending the Blue Lion’s training session, where surely no shenanigans would be plaguing their efforts to ready themselves for the battle next weekend.

Dorothea, Petra, and Edelgard had insisted on dragging Byleth out of her room for lunches, and as much as she is starting to like hanging out with the students during mealtimes, the levels to which Claude will go to get another reaction from Byleth can really irritate Edelgard’s generally level-headed conversation. And then Lorenz and his equally as irritating (if not much more cheerful) noble friend Ferdinand from the Black Eagles house will get involved, and then Dorothea will hurl pointed commentary at their ideals of nobility, Lorenz will ignore her because of said ideals that prevent him from engaging with commoners, Ferdinand will try and make up for Lorenz, piss off Dorothea more, which leads Petra to try and diffuse an entire situation she clearly doesn’t fully understand why is happening, and Byleth will wish she had stayed in her room.

As she bids Marianne and Hilda a good afternoon outside of the classroom, she spots Sylvain sneaking around the courtyard. She doesn’t know why he bothers to hide himself; he’s got the darkest, most peculiar red hair she’s ever seen, he has to be over six feet tall, and is so clearly trying to avoid someone.

“Sylvain, don’t you have training practice?” She calls out, and he recovers from flinching quite impressively. Within seconds of looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he’s running his hand through his hair and winking at her, broad shoulders and long legs approaching her, oozing charisma.

“Ah, professor, seems you’ve caught me, how embarrassing.” He chuckles, a low rumbling practiced to perfection. “Now that you’ve caught me though… how are you? Want to chat? Preferably inside a classroom where I can’t be found? Especially by a certain woman, or Felix? Or Ingrid?”

“Afraid of being held responsible for breaking someone’s heart?” Byleth responds, raising her voice slightly. Sylvain’s charm falls apart as he quickly shushes her, looking over his shoulder to make sure no students have overheard. “Sylvain, it’s been barely over a month and I can think of three young women whom I’ve seen on your arm that you may be hiding from. Don’t you think that’s a bad thing?”

He sighs, grumbling. “You sound just like Ingrid…” He mumbles, almost angrily. _That’s not a good emotion to associate with criticism,_ Byleth thinks. She shakes her head, gesturing for Sylvain to follow her.

“I don’t have time to hide you from whatever you’re avoiding,” Byleth starts, hoping to convey her meaning past his current plight of hiding from a woman. “But, I’m happy to observe the Blue Lions training with you if you explain a few things to me. And then you have to join your classmates and face their disapproval.” Sylvain looks relieved at having to confront his friends rather than an ex, so he follows her path towards the training grounds.

“What can I help you with then professor?”

Byleth glances around her to make sure no one is in earshot before she asks, “What is the Tragedy?”

Sylvain’s eyes open huge and pained, stopping mid step. “What? What do you mean, ‘what’ is the Tragedy?” He puts an emphasis on what, as if her not even knowing the concept is offensive.

“Look, I don’t mean to offend, really. I just… in my travels, I suppose it never reached me.” Byleth tries, but Sylvain still looks angry.

“You must be joking. Where have you been traveling that news of it didn't reach you?” He seethes. When he’s angry, his dashing looks skid sideways and slam into something much more human and ugly. The loss of artifice is refreshing, as Byleth is slowly learning of noble society members, but the anger is much less comforting. “How… how could something like that - how come you’re not even bothered by it?”

“Please.” Byleth tries again, and this time Sylvain listens. “I’m asking because I want to understand. Dimitri… well, it seems like it’s blocking him off from other people.” The anger in Sylvain’s eyebrows leaves at Dimitri’s name, and he creases them in worried understanding.

“He’s not the only one that’s been destroyed by it.” He sighs ruefully. “I’m sorry for losing my temper, you’re only trying to make up for past ignorance. It’s probably best that you came to me anyway.” He gestures for Byleth to sit on a bench by the entrance of the grounds, looking out at the swift blade movements Felix is dishing out against Dimitri. “I think if you asked any of the other students you wouldn’t get away with simply saying ‘I didn’t know it happened.’”

“You almost didn’t let me.” Byleth points out, and Sylvain nods in acknowledgment.

“You’ll understand why it’s kind of a loaded question in a second.” He explains, honey-brown eyes gazing in contrite at the two men fighting ahead of them. “When we say ‘The Tragedy’ we’re actually referring to the Tragedy of Duscur. Four years ago,” He settles his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward and away from Byleth. “There was a bloody attack on the royal family. King Lambert, the Queen Consort Patricia, crown Prince Dimitri, and a handful of other royals and knights were on a diplomatic mission to Duscur, the country just north of Faerghus. There was an attack, and…” He grips his hands together, pushing out his last statement like some of himself leaves with his breath. “The King, Queen, the royals, and the knights were all killed. Slaughtered, as Dimitri puts it.” Sylvain looks at Dimitri, the latter’s eyes shining with battle honed focus. “He’s the sole survivor of the attack.”

Byleth twitches uncomfortably. She’s been in a few bloody battles, looked upon corpses nearly piled on top of each other, but every time she’s seen her father towering above them all. Out of breath, but alive. Every time. Swords have pierced their skin, arrows stuck into their flesh, axes hacked at their sides, lances skewered dangerously close to vitals, but Jeralt has never once fallen off his horse, and Byleth now has Sothis to reverse any deadly blow. Imagining her father added to the pile of bodies has always crossed Byleth’s mind, but to have an entire Kingdom leadership taken out in one fell swoop with a child as witness… Byleth’s heart lurches against what keeps her from feeling.

“We all lost something that day.” Sylvain continues. “I lost a king, and Dimitri has only just recently recovered enough to smile again. But… Felix… he lost his older brother, Glenn.” Felix’s amber eyes are ablaze, attacking ever more furiously against Dimitri’s impenetrable defenses and deft counters with his lance. “Felix and I have been friends forever, so I remember Glenn. He was appointed Dimitri’s knight from an impressively young age, and Felix and his dad were so proud whenever they spoke of him.” Sylvain’s tone grows a little distant at the mention of Felix’s pride for his brother. “I wouldn’t speak of Glenn now though. Felix and his old man don’t see eye to eye on Glenn’s death, and Ingrid was betrothed to him. Neither of them like to talk about him.”

A silence follows as Byleth takes in the information. Felix gets in the first hit and Dimitri goes down. Ingrid congratulates Felix, all smiles, but Felix’s frown grows deeper and he demands a rematch. Dimitri obliges, frown also remaining. No one seems to be aware of the energy between the two, except herself and Sylvain eyeing them carefully, awaiting the explosion of tension coming from the man who’s brother was killed protecting the other, who’s whole family was slaughtered before him.

“I… I suppose I should offer my condolences-” Byleth tries, and Sylvain cuts her off with a sad but understanding smile.

“It’s all right. You didn’t know. Besides, the consequences go further than simply the deaths of the Monarch and his allies.” He points his chin at Dedue, standing watchfully behind Dimitri as the latter takes his position to restart the fight. “How do you think the citizen’s reacted to the news that a darker skinned people had killed the King of Faerghus?” Byleth blinks in surprise at Sylvain’s candidness. He looks a little shyly over at her. “Sorry, you might think that's a bit of a stretch.” Byleth shakes her head, having never really thought about race relations. She’s only worked with a handful of Almyrans and people of Duscur, so she's had the luxury of ignoring it. Seems its more complex than she gave it credit for.

Sylvain sits up again, rolling his shoulders back. “There was a massive call for revenge, even though Dimitri still insists to this day that the perpetrators were not from Duscur. A massacre was carried out, and scores of innocent citizens of Duscur were killed in the wake of Lambert’s death.”

Sylvain follows Byleth’s questioning glance at Dedue. “Ah. Dimitri saved Dedue’s life using his body to shield him from any soldiers looking to kill another person from Duscur. He’s decided to repay that debt by becoming Dimitri’s vassal, but I think Dimitri wishes they’d just be friends. Personally…”

Sylvain glances at the entrance furtively. “I think Dimitri’s right. Faerghus and Duscur have been friendly since, heck, forever. So why would our old friends from Duscur just up and assassinate our king? It doesn't make sense. Sure, there are probably folks from Duscur who don't like Faerghus. But do I think there's enough of 'em to mount an attack and slaughter the king and his whole company of elite guards?”

Byleth cocks her head to the side. “The official story is that insurrectionists killed the King?” As far as Byleth knows, Duscur is an arid and relatively peaceful country. “You’re right, that does seem a bit far fetched…”

“Right? At most, I can see a misguided group of people from Duscur conspiring with someone else who had plans to dethrone the king. Maybe they were even lured into participating and used as scapegoats.” Sylvain offers offhandedly. _Assuming there really is a group out there that wanted the King dead that badly. Wouldn’t they have taken the throne then afterwards? And why did Dimitri live then?_ Byleth frowns and shakes off her thoughts. “Regardless…” He continues. “The prejudice against people of Duscur is really intense, and I think it’s all bunk. A person can't be judged by the worst of their kind, or else where would any of us be?”

 _I don’t think I understand Sylvain all that well,_ Byleth remarks. _His empathy towards a people that allegedly killed his best friends’ family doesn’t match the level of disregard he shows the women he dates. Perhaps… there must be something there. Some level of self reflection he is unwilling to go through._ “That’s a very thoughtful reflection, Sylvain.” Byleth encourages gently. He smiles shrewdly in response, avoiding her compliment and deciding to lead the conversation into silence.

Dimitri knocks Felix’s sword out of his grasp and trips him with is next swing. He falls to the ground hard, enough to make Sylvain wince. Dimitri goes to offer his hand, but Felix slaps it away with hatred, opting instead to retrieve his fallen sword and stalk off to a training dummy. Dimitri’s tragic expression covers his face as Ingrid pats his arm comfortingly, glaring at Felix. 

Sylvain sighs and starts to get up. “Seems the resident drama queen needs some attention.” Byleth thinks thats actually the exact opposite thing Felix wants right now, but she’s not going to stop Sylvain. “Excuse me professor. I hope I could be of help.”

“Thank you Sylvain, truly. I had no idea of such suffering.” Byleth answers, and an uncharacteristic shadow passes over his features. His smile curls into something in pain and his eyes flash resentment for a moment.

“I’m a bit jealous of that fact.” He laughs without warmth. “There’s a lot of people who would kill you for that kind of life.”Then Sylvain saunters away, unaware of the irony in asking for Byleth’s monstrous heart, when his own beats with the blood of what it means to be human, to hurt for others. Byleth sighs, and presses her hand to her chest, searching for her heartbeat. It’s a motion she’s found herself repeating for years since Jeralt had informed her about her defect, the grotesque stillness inside her that throws up a barrier between herself and her emotions.

She prods for a few moments, and gives up as she always does, when she confirms that her heart still won’t beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain's supports with Dedue about Duscur always make me happy, so even though Dedue will be taking a backseat in this story I wanted to keep Sylvain's belief in him.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to post next week, but midterm season just passed and I've got to get writing again! So sorry if there isn't anything for next week, there will be after that for sure.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first work I've posted online, and I'm a little terrified if not proud of the almost 30k draft sitting on my computer, still unfinished. I hope posting the start will garner me some encouragement and criticism to help me along the path to finishing this monster of a story!


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